The Vacant Parking Lot

Sinking lethargy starting in the back of my head and creeping down my neck and behind my eyes, knocks at the cavity of my brain and asks "is there anyone to let me out?" But there isn't anymore. All that's left is a vacant space, an empty parking lot for forgotten and lost thoughts which crawl through abandoned streets and congregate there, hoping to be picked up again, like tear stained love letters or grimy orphan children. But no one ever comes. Soon the asphalt is littered with bones and dust of dreams.