Not Quite Hollow

Not Quite Hollow

On the edge of the shell
Cracks are appearing,
And within
The space of solitude grows hollow
And the shadows form sharp edges,
Strange patterns
Equally eerily familiar, their shapes
Like metamorphosed men
Lingering
In corners and dark spots
Where the mind fears to wander
And constantly treads just the same,
Like picking a scab with abandon,
Relentless,
The painful pleasure of madness and woe
A dependable means of distraction
From that which wounds deeper by far:
The absence
Of that which was central and solid--
The heart of the darkness within
And without
And between.
But the cracks in the crystalline shell
Are extending and letting in light
That reveals
The hollow expanse to be empty,
Those shifty-shaped shadows
To be tricks of the air
And a mind seeking solace
Outside of itself
In the world
Somewhere on the other side
Of the delicate shattering shell.