When the empty comes back, I ask
what’s wrong, try to breathe big air
in, and the air won’t go. The medication
makes me feverish but it won’t fill
my hole, and nothing is allowed into
my empty, so I think about how
smooth death might be. This ugly,
bald survivor with whom I cannot talk
squashes energy death requires,
so I am a broken man, empty,
and I wonder why empty causes
such excruciating pain. I wonder
why some power will not end this,
long for courage to find violence.
Pass, pass, pass, pass, please.
.
stillfugue 
#1 by Carl D'Agostino on April 18, 2013 - 2:36 pm
Sometimes with depression the empty is accompanied by physical pain esp like hands crushing your brain inside your skull and the overall empty attack leaves one totally depleted and lethargic for days.
#2 by Carl on April 29, 2013 - 1:50 pm
Yes, Carl, I can tell that you know the truth.
#3 by Michele Seminara on April 18, 2013 - 6:13 pm
I love the last line of this poem, half prayer,half desperate cry – very powerful.
#4 by Carl on April 29, 2013 - 1:51 pm
Thank you for your comment, Michele. I appreciate it.
#5 by Gary Leigh on April 18, 2013 - 8:47 pm
Depression. The curse of the empath.
#6 by Carl on April 29, 2013 - 1:52 pm
Thank you for your comment, Gary.
#7 by Hudson Howl on April 19, 2013 - 10:09 am
There are at times or moments when ‘ugly’ and ’empty’ is preferable. At least it is a real feeling. Pretty and fullment is the crap which will screw you over.
#8 by Carl on April 29, 2013 - 2:10 pm
You are are right on the key, Hudson!
#9 by clinock on April 29, 2013 - 1:28 am
Stunning…