Hollow.

Locked are my fears
in a cage with nothin in itself but
a silent shadow, such
room is filled
with dispair and
the last little bit of hope badly written within a
book that keeps curses
and blessings;
a key is needed, what is given is the
rope to envelope the package of dust.
Cut the rose, throw the needle, tie
her
up in the middle;
cut the rope, throw the light, tie
her
out from my sight.