LUCES

I noticed you don’t like
people who feel.
You only like the ones who
let you dip your fingers in your chest
and wipe the blood on them.

Anyone vacant
you can fill with your
junk.

I sit alone in this bitter, snowy dusk,
staring at the brown, barren woods,
wondering why you cast me out,
but feeling this empty, winter wind
whipping at my cheeks,
I learn it’s because I’m not empty.

Because you cannot spew
to fill me.

I am already full.