The hollow man

I realised I have nothing to share

no treasured memory of my mother

no great song to sing to praise my brother

no feeling normal folk feel they can spare

I have been on more battlefields

than I can care to count

the type of wars where no spoils

but your own skin may be claimed

I've seen rougher skirmishes than tonight

yet here I am, scared to live, to breathe,

scared of my own fright

and nothing whatsoever to bequeath

no darkness, no blinding rage

only the unchurning emptiness

at the pit of the stomach

only the silences – which have grown

deeper with age –

where my heart should beat

where my soul should lurk

so instead I read an author's memory

of her mother and I call it my own

I listen to a song about another's brother

which I pretend I'm the first to sing

I fake feelings I think others feel

so that folk makebelieve

I have a heart