Empty by James Miller

 

I gave you a sorry

like the last dollar

in my pocket.

I’m coming up

Empty—

 

my stomach

void of its acid

shoves nothing

from my throat,

gagging.

 

I know I’m low

when their smiles blind

like hospital lights

And bind like

white wristbands.

 

I look down

so they can’t see

my face—

eyes vacant,

pupils dilated.