DETACHED

A hollow voice,
That brushes,
Through a plastic apparatus,
Will never fill the void.

A false voice,
Saying what it must,
Spanning awkward silence,
Will never be enough.

It cannot span,
The leagues in between.
After each call,
There is another league added,
And my shell closes,
A little bit more.

The one-dimensional sound,
Impersonal and cold,
Shoved my way,
Without thought, without care

Now I am detached,
Just drifting,
Stopping only to listen,
To the hollow voice.
The only crumb I have left.