Threadbare

There are eggshells here
on the hospital floor.
All untouched
all unscathed.
I laid them myself--
dropped them--
and I thought they would break,
but they aren't broken, not shattered;
they're just empty and useless.
Well, eggshells are eggshells:
hollow and devoid of ife.
Usually they hold spritely chicks,
but not this time, or all the times before.
See, I couldn't lay eggs,
only their shells.
But what purpose do empty shells serve?
Apart from being perfect carcasses.
Untouched and unscathed?
Devoid of life, that's true.
So fitting.
They tell me I can keep trying
but I know who I am.
I'm a shell myself.
Life has been scraped out of me.