Your emptiness lies sullen on the floor
A ragged box taped up from end to end
It doesn’t serve a purpose anymore
Except to mark the place where you pretend
That god will give you gleaming gifts of gold
Because to ask for gold is still your right
Although it’s just a lie which you were told
A cardboard promise painted grayish-white
It sags where mold has spread across one side
It bears the marks of use and of neglect
It has a hole through which you look inside
Though never see the things which you expect
Until you curse this thing you used to bless
And wait for death to fill your emptiness