floating grass

The need to reach out to someone, anything
is quieted by the emptiness, the no one.
When you never give back,
your outlets decay
and grow elsewhere.
Like a candy machine asking no coin,
they've sold every ear that listened,
every piece of sincere caring,
every scrap of wanting you to be happy,
for nothing.
Your coins were never theirs to keep;
you bought their love for nothing
and investing nothing, saved nothing
for today,
for the need for someone today.
With nothing sweet to abate your need
to feel understood,
you wander through meadows of floating grass--
a bed of squandered roots--
seeking something unspent.

My fortune useless,
I wander the sties and stalls
for somewhere to sleep.