This silence sickens me. 

My tears are my only comfort.

I only know my own darkness.

To which is a  very lonely place.

I hunger yet I want not.

I die yet I care not.

Promises broken and lies kept.

Though myself company is best.

For alone I have no broken hopes.

No loses to weep or clam. 

That which was whole and pure,

is lost and hoped to never be found.

The innocence to which I naively clung to.

I'm gladly rid of it now and doing fine.

I ignore those so not to be disappointed.

I'm happy to stay in my empty home,

where nothing meaningful can harm me.

My empty home to which I lock myself in,

is like the empty heart to which you'll find.

It's dark and full of nothing to which I hold.

For this is my home and the emptiness I rome.