Molting

Molting

I keep coming back to this well

And every time I find it dry

But I keep coming back

And I keep coming back

Empty

Empty 

Emptiness 

There seems to be no word association

With Emptiness

Because when there is nothing there

There is nothing to associate with

Just like everyone else’s search for eternal bliss

Mine seems to be sorting through laundry

Making car payments

Daily grinds

These thoughts that come forward to my mind

Are gut wrenching

But so Blase'

I think I’ll go and find a tray

Filled with bright hors’d oeuvres 

A sporty car to drive the curves

To navigate the way to nowhere

I sit here in the smoke and stare

Into this long and deep abyss

It is the clouds and skies I miss

They do make such a difference

I grow tired of this poetic inference 

That leads me to this same empty well

I’m ready to let go of this shell

Let my soft insides be revealed

I could be loved

I could be peeled

But at least I would be me