Matryoshka
By Dora L
Published 17 September 2013
I look empty.
Empty as the dead egg in the dilapidated nest
Feel me
I feel smooth.
Smooth as the white pebble rounded by the restless water
Smell me
I smell woody.
Woody as the newly sharpened pencil lying on the desk
Taste me
I taste like nothing.
Nothing, like the surface of an apple newly freshly plucked.
Hear me
I sound not empty.
Not empty like a box of dominos shaken vigorously
Open me
Read from the top.
![dora.jpg](https://redroom-wagtail-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/media/dd/images/c61d11f001768349b3fc2adf7b4d5c36.jpg)