Empty

This sentence is empty
It yields no crop
Lichen dare not form
Across the concrete slab top

No pearls of envy
Luscious lines that evoke
Nothingness, entirely
Devoid of all hope

The language of plenty
Stoops plainly to see
Its ordinary cousin
Outlive history

A sickness befalls those
Not ready for its noose
For those hanging in mid-air
It still whispers no truth

It survives every stencil
And grafitti obscene
Once under your fingernails
They’ll never be clean

A return to the darkness
Quaint blackness in peace
Sleep through eternity
No light left to breach

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Empty

Bleach

There’s a light dust in the air
Particles settling like feathers
On lungs and turning collars
A shade darker than the white
Persil bleached reflection
There’s a hum in the air
Lingering dead space
Not quite silence, but I can hear
My footsteps treading on
Chalk coloured stone
Disintegrating houses
Under summer skies
A gust of wind blows life
Back into the brief pause
A second to take in the
Magnitude and energy
To grieve in-between breaths

Bleach