Empty

Stumbling in the dark.
I fall asleep with a pencil in my hand-
Mumbling to myself.
Etching scratches into my arms.
I cannot believe in bliss,
although it does seem I have been awakened.
Enlightenment tends to leave me discouraged.
I always thought there would be something more-
but it's just empty.
We are empty containers waiting to be filled up.
This one is weightless, since there is nothing holding me down.
Throw me in the water.
I'll float.
Cut me open and make a birdhouse.
At least then, I would be useful.
I am not even a time capsule, since I choose to forget my past.
Life seems like a dreary, barren landscape waiting for flowering trees.
I'd like to be that sprout.