empty glass-man

the empty glass-man
waits for the bus everyday
lone – he feels nothing,

not the falling rain
sinking into hardened skin,
the unmoved – statue

he no longer cares
if the sun melts his features
there is no soul left,

no soul left to save,
he sits and waits for the end,
counting his last breaths

what is life if you have nothing left to live for? an empty shell of a man, the glass man waits for the final blow – the grim reaper come to steal his last drop of humanity: his breaths, the only sign that the empty glass-man lives.

and he is so tired.

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