The unoccupied space is still there

The hallow of my heart, the bruise on my cognition

it still thinks about the missing piece;

six degrees, it trickles into my world

Like a mysterious waterfall;

I hear it rushing, but never see or touch it

Winehouse, Hoffman, Houston, Cobain, Plath, Wolfe,

wounded souls whose path was never traced

Far enough to ask

Why? Why…. is your hurt

so much worse

Than mine?