Perfectly Empty

On the good days, you feel. 

On the good days when the thoughts cross your mind, 

tears start pouring down your cheeks. 

On the good days, you feel, 

and if all you feel is pain, 

and you’re dragged through the torrential currents,

of your own brain, 

drowning. 

At least the pain and tears remind you,

that you still feel, 

you’re still here, 

you’re still human.

On the bad days, you don’t.

On the bad days when the thoughts cross your mind, 

you don’t bat an eye. 

On the bad days,

your mind is tearing itself apart 

but the waters are calm, still, 

perfectly reflecting,

the empty gray skies. 

Nothing lives here anymore, 

did you ever live here, 

did you ever live at all? 

Isn’t the hollowness enough to fill you up?