An Empty Chair

An arm’s length away from a hollow girl stands an empty chair.
Its whispers interrupt her thoughts as they pierce through the begging silence.
Echoing over her face,
it tells her of torn obsessions.
This chair helps deception slither back into her mind.
Its lies transparent.
The chair and the girl, both empty, hack through tangled glances.
The uneven stares and polished excuses flood any importance in her mind.
She swims in frustration.
She looks out the painted window to her left,
fractured like the chair’s “truths” as well as her aspirations.

I look at her. A sharp slicing sting of revelation:
She is standing in a plain room, abandoned of everything; save walls, a hardwood floor, and light.

She is alone.