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Weeping Birth
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Hollow
Between the cold and grey concrete walls of this hall,
The lone dancer's flight ended up in a breathless crawl.
Crushed by pounding footsteps that were tearing him apart,
And slowly sucking all the blood from his weakened heart.
The moon's rays won't reflect onto the mud-eyed shadows,
Cold are the thoughts, cold is the will.
Cold is the sight that no empathy can ever fulfill.
Inexorably sunken into groundless voids,
In a world that suddenly became too small.
Where all surfaces are hollow.
Where all minds are shallow.
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