No I'm not empty

I'm just full

Of all the wrong things

It's constipation of the soul

In the worst way

Nothing goes in

And nothing

Comes

Out

(No even tears)

A straightjacket on life

It would be frustrating

If I could feel

Rivers of emotion

Have dried up

Leaving shallow streams

Across my mind

Dust storms kick up

Half-heartedly

Until they fill my soul

I want to scream

But all that comes out

Is nothing

Rip me open

Let the dust fall

And I will feel nothing

Nothing at all.