The Man In The Room Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Emptiness is not a disease.
It's a state of mind.
A perspective.

Cigarette dangling from lips, drink in hand,
television softly blacking out the thoughts.

He sits still as a stone in his tomb.
He never makes a sound.

He is afraid that if he does he
will need to prove his existence
is of some value.

But it is not.

He has been told this often enough.

Oh yes, just about everyone he has known
has gleefully berated his topics of conversation.

His attempts to be a man.
Attempts to be vital.

Parents, siblings, friends.
Jobs, wife, children.

All have had their taste of his fear.

Like a mangled orange in a pulper,
he has become the symbol of everyone's distaste.

The emblem of failed love, heart
as stoned as a rock.

He dosen't dare dream out loud.
To do so would invite the
smirking scornful remarks.

The wandering of the mind is
a dangerous waste of talent.

Emptiness is not a disease.
It's a state of mind.
A perspective.