The Empty Feeling

Updated: Mar 31

By Max Marinelli ‘22, Staff Reporter and Poet

I’ve been here a thousand times before,

And yet I’m still lost in that empty feeling.

I cannot avoid it; it is an inevitable loss.

I feel as if I am sinking inside myself,

And the ropes fell along with me.

My feelings have deserted me, I-

I am left behind, a sacrifice to

Those too stubborn too young.

Truly, I’ve been bottled, capped,

And shaken up: any release

And an explosion is imminent.

I stare into my eyes; I turn the

Lights off and watch them fade.

They shrink with uninterest,

While growing only in pain;

Though not the constant tinge

I’ve grown unable to live without.

I’ve grown insufferable– or at least I

Believe, I’ve never given the chance;

Not because the world is unworthy,

No, I am the one not worth the waste.

I’m begging to be found, but my heart

Can’t speak and mouths refuse to listen.

So cycles turn onto cycles, and well too

Soon I’m pleading to be let back in.

My flaws don’t bleed so bright in

The dark— which hides all creatures

Blighted so: the moonlight bloomers.

Though getting in is effortless, any

Planned escape is an impossibility.

Once you’ve brushed an empty feeling,

You’ve left some fingerprints behind;

For that is a convention as deep as the

Saucer-shaped prisons we call eyes.

My soul’s window has been left open,

And there’s a draft—it’s blown away

And back again—as waves fight the

Shore: it is the power of the moon.

Entranced, I slide into the place where I

Am exposed with eyes closed, but this is

Not a home; this is a cell, and I am lost.

I’m begging to be found, but my heart

Can’t speak, and mouths refuse to listen.

Had I used my mouth to cry of richest death

Perhaps my song could have slammed the

Unsettled window; and histories don’t fade

True through water, so this solution joins

Reality with corruption, a murky mixture

Of false hope and needless sufferings.

I’m begging to be found, but my heart can’t

Speak and mouths refuse to listen, and

From their faults, I’m waiting to be saved.

© 1845-2018, Focus, the official newspaper of Friends' Central Upper School

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