you sad pair of hooks:
hangers without a picture.
exposed and vulnerable,
bare backgrounds with
nothing colourful to exhibit.
you cling to naked walls,
attached to this emptiness,
this void that consumes you.
you feed and nurse your hang over.
you have no other purpose
now, the meaning in
your existence is vacant.
you are waiting to be
occupied, for something
beautiful to hang on to.
instead, you hang your head
and cry. this is your home:
this absent air, these barren floors.
the rug has been pulled
from beneath your feet.
you've been stripped of your
previous committment to
that beautiful picture. after all
it was painted with persistance
on a conniving canvas.
shouldn't you be happy here? alone,
with nothing to hang but yourself.
