100 words: Hollow

Within a hollow chest
beats his ragged heart.

Starved for affection, touch, love,
for things denied
the beast he is.

Knowing inside
he is not
as he should be,
all he could be.

Listening to the singing,
watching the dancing,
living a world apart,

where his voice is not
his body is not
a horror show
of misspent desire.

Starving for comfort, connection,
he reaches out with hands
that have only ever learned
to be weapons;

how can he be
expected to be gentle,

when one of the feelings
exerted on his missing heart
has never been mercy?

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Love Poems, On Depression, Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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