This emptiness
eats at the
very core of my being;
eats away at
these emotions.

Consumed,
consumed,
as the wood becomes ash,
apprizing me of my finite time,
consumed I am,
an emptiness to blame.

The essence of who I am
has been ripped from me,
held up to the
sun in
raucous triumph,
a still beating Mayan sacrifice.

Ha! But that sacrifice
would have meaning.

My emptiness does not.
My loss is my loss,
but should not be a loss.
The friend I’ve lost
shall still be my friend,
though empty, lonely,
his untimely departure
has left me.

How selfish I am.