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Empty, Hollow, Dead Inside
August 14, 2009
Vultures are soaring in circles
High above my head.
They must know that inside
I'm dead.
Empty, Hollow,
Dead inside.
A bottle with few worries
And no feelings to hide.
Maybe, like a radio, I'll change my tune.
Maybe, like the rain, I'll fall.
Maybe I'll see the glass half-full.
Maybe I won't change at all.
© Shann L., Tai Po, Hong Kong
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