I feel empty inside,
Able to see,
But not to feel,
Things happen around me,
They make sense,
But not connection,
There is a man,
I can see him,
As I turn around the corner,
I glance behind,
He looks at me,
Our eyes search each others' in the dim light,
But we do not greet,
For I am hollow,
I shouldn't be seen,
I feel the pain,
But I cannot show it.
Does he know?
I doubt so.
If he did,
What difference would it make?
For I have been carved hollow,
By the hands which I've grown accustomed to,
And his hands could only carve me hollow,
He could not have left me whole.
As hollow as I am,
I still feel pain.
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