She's not empty.
She just doesn' t like
what she's filled with.
She's afraid of it.
So she dwells on the surface
and amuses herself
with shiny colors and pretty tunes.
I see something else though,
something I can't quite explain.
A fragrance, maybe,
that makes my core
quake in awe.
I'm a leaping cat
blind with curiosity,
I'm a moth
burning with ambition,
I'm a whale
dreaming of a shore,
and I crash and burn and die
of thirst
willingly
