All of that is nothing.
Just air.
Where were the arms to hold me?
Just air.
Take your words and mutter them to yourself.
They are meant only for you anyway.
Who came to my door?
No one.
Who stopped my hand?
None.
Who filled my empty cup?
The wind.
Who took fat bread from the oven?
Who sang my body to sleep?
The screeching owl in the night.
All the words in the world;
just air.