Empty is the glass of wine sipped in a dark room alone.
Empty is a book beautifully written in ink without compassion.
Empty is the sky full of stars without the warmth of a loved one.
Empty.
Like your words, sugar-coated, honey-deep but empty.
Never assuring just words spoken at the most perfect time.
Delivered delicately with endearing voice and calm smile,
but never honest, never your deep thoughts. Never the person you truly are.
Empty is the heart of a broken man.
Empty, like my thoughts of you.
