I thought I would have more perspective,
the way I always had in the past….
That I would have something more to say than
all these cruel intentions spinning around in my head.
Or that I would be able to place these feelings
Into petty words just like the ones that
filled up my notebooks and burned through my skin.
But I can not conjure up a rhyme to save my soul…
or what is left of it.
All I have are these pointless words
being placed hastily onto paper,
All these words and sentences
just trying to stress
This nothingness that I shall, in the end,
find comfort in.
Comfort in this emptiness. This black hole.
A nothingness without you.
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