As i sit alone in the smoke filled room,

I realise that nothing can fill my cup.

Nothing ever has.

How can i see the cup half full?

How can this emptiness fill the void?

Maybe the cup was made to be empty.

I guess that is the beauty of it.

What’s inside doesn’t change it’s essence.

A cup is what it is - not the liquid filling it.

Just an empty vessel waiting to be used.

With nothing permanent that can fill the void.

An endless thirst to caress and love.