nothing but you

will you wake from the place where you have fallen

so sadly and desperately to sleep~

will you breathe life into lungs

that lay flat against your chest~

when the question falls upon your ears

will you speak an answer or just pretend~

when the lie falls from your lips

will the lines in your face remain straight~

does anyone know the color of your eyes

behind that carefully crafted mask you wear~

does anyone know the sound of your voice

or is the ventriloquist still busy at his task~

is there any part of you that is recognizable

the first page, the last, the ones in between~

is the title yours, the author you, did you edit

these words that flow from you so easily~

do the ink stains on your fingertips

masquerade as blood in your veins~

do you tap your foot to mimic

the sound of a beating pulse~

are there pieces of you left in the rubble

that litters every surface of this place~

are there relics that will ever be recovered

when all of this is clean and swept away~

there is nothing left to hide behind

in a barren empty room~

there is nothing against these blank white walls

but you~