the hole

Not the hole that you’re thinking of you b_ch. x_x

This particular hole caught my eye while smoking alone at the lower ground parking area of the building where I was working.

It was underneath a series of cobweb-like cracks on the white washed wall of the shopping center beside ours.

It got me to thinking-this one needs to be filled-up.

It’s not pretty in an artsy kind of way.

Not that it would strike an immediate course of silent reflection in the realms of self destruct.

Not that it would entice serious reflections of your motives in one’s lesser evils of diminutive compulsiveness,

It’s just a hole.

But it had awakened a crazy obsession in me that it needs to be plastered. This hole has to disappear.

Maybe we’re spending much of our lives filling up a hole on our walls of evasive self-contempt.

Sometimes it’s really not there.

Not in the artsy kind of way we like it.

Believe it or not, it’s not there.

Fill it up.

We don’t need a hole on order to feel devoid.

But when emptiness suddenly eats you up, you suddenly awaken to the realization that sometimes you’ve got to empty yourself first,

In order to be whole.


Again.