A black hollow bowl,
The bowl...
Is my heart
I am a pioneer of pain
Nobody understands, nobody can see.
The pain that is, being me
The dogs no longer acknowledge me
With their solidarity bark
Because they know that I
Am dead inside
Within the hollow chambers of my tortured being
There lies no more a beating heart
Instead a lonely pack of 6AA batteries
That beat this fountain of wasted tears through my wasted body
Annabelle James
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thoughts-on-a-bowl/
