Empty is not a lack of substance,
It is the presence of meaningless substance.
A glass full of air is empty.
I, more unfortunately, am a glass full of other gas.
It’s not empty you say,
Well I beg to disagree.
Where is my water; where is my liquid; where is my drink?
I am not a glass full of rich apple cider.
I am not a glass of freshly pressed tea.
My glass is “filled”, and it looks filled, and it feels filled,
But I know it best:
My glass is empty.
Empty like a heart that’s had its love vacuumed out.
Empty like a thoughtless wake-up-breakfast routine.
Empty like smiles on a TV commercial.
Empty like speeches coming out of Washington D.C.
And I seem to have everything,
But that’s because no one sees passion as equivalent to food and success.
I am tired, I am overwhelmed.
I am lost in this tornado of colors and objects and people,
When all I want are clear skies and subtle wind and a peachy sunset.
I have no idea what it is.