After you have fallen in love; truly in love,
drained out of your contents in love,
eaten whole and left nothing but bone in love.
You feel like a tin box of Quality Street chocolates that’s been
emptied from its jewel coloured riches and filled with dry lentils.
Every time someone was fooled by your colourful exterior, they came closer; once they open you up, there’s nothing but limp, tiny stones, dead and repulsively orange, rattling aimlessly from side to side.
it doesn’t matter what they fill you with after the lentils are gone
it doesn’t matter if they fill you up at all
you were always empty.