Hollowed Man

I walk around empty, eviscerated, with nothing inside that gives any comfort or lets me know. I can see my reflection, hear the rustle of my clothes as i move, or the sound of my shoes on the pavement when I walk, all indications that I am here, moving through the day to day. But, I feel none of it. Detached, I see it all through a remote feed.

I have very little interaction with others on a personal level. I have no use for any of it, and no one has a use for me. They might think that they do, until they get close. Then I start rotting them from the inside out, without fail. The smart ones cut and run, out of self-preservation. The ones that don't wither away, or smash themselves against me and break into pieces.

Each time they take a little more of me with them. Each time there is a little less of me left. Each time I have less to give to the next. The cycle is continuous, feeding on itself. My awareness does nothing to help me break it.

As my inside empties I become more resolved. My edges become harsher, sharper. I become a more effective tool for others to break themselves against.

I will continue to walk these streets in search of something to fill myself back up with. I yearn to be whole. I don't know if I have it in me, though. I might have been born lacking some key component, and will stay broken and hollow forever.