Neither What I Like Nor What I Ought

A thousand cuts
litter the night
whispering,
dripping enmity
and the whistling hollows
of empty eyes.

A thousand more,
and it seems like none at all.

Benighted and benumbed,
we scramble our fingers
(as though at
scabbing cuts)
at buttons and touchscreens
and drip our life away
for a howling vacancy,
for a shadow of connection
that reveals itself
hideously
disconnected.

Reviews

[darkgurl]

Hmm! this is pondering really. I like the write. Thought it was well written.
I really enjoyed the beginning of your 3rd stanza.