I am an empty frame
Not a blank canvas, mind you
But a vessel

If a picture speaks a thousand words,
Does the void inside me ring mute?
Does it swallow expression like a dark star?
How can anything possibly grow when so devoured?

The back of my head tingles mildly
With vague notions of having once held a picture
Firmly in place
As it spoke

For the life of me
Could I recall just a little of what it said

I am an empty frame
And all I want
All that I need
Is something to hold onto