The are the holes that fill me. I am the one who fills them. Seven empty spaces with empty eyes and sad faces like mine. Seven desires that are not here but should be here. Seven burning hearts torn from there chest. From our youth, we can feel them, but we just sleep and don’t dwell these things.
There sound is silent. They send hallowing dreams inside my bones. They crawl up and crawls down and grab  the spine with their empty promises and scratch the eye with demeaning words and never leave traces. This is why we sleep.
Let them feed on reason and singing, we’ll all listen like students in class, all coloring the palm of his brother. Maybe, maybe, maybe they promise when I beg. They leave.
When the sun is too bright and I’m too empty to preach preaching, when I see a gentle face before so many strangers, it is then I take her to places. When their is nothing left to put in our stomachs. Seven who dug despite the preachers. Seven who leave and do not hate to leave. Seven fool’s lips are to be quiet, and quiet.