Its Nothing that I hate more than anything.
It’s the apathy, boredom, listlessness, indifference
The wandering directionless
that is more painful than any pain.
I stand three feet outside reality
Speaking philosophically of practicalities
Drawing on memories of a Self that once lived.
It’s nothing that whispers silently
Pounds continuously, monotonously.
I feel it following me in the dark of night
Holding me in the light of day.
It’s nothing that wears many masks
Holds many identities
All of which claim to be me.
If only I could find something.
I turn the music louder
Drowning out the quiet of nothing
With the sound of a thunderous noise.
I go many places and accumulate many somethings
Shoving the Nothing beneath them all
Always moving, Always doing
Longing for a moment’s respite
But knowing that respite means Nothing.
I bury myself in piles of books
Maybe wisdom is something
But it silently gnaws at me, claws at me
From behind a million useless thoughts.
I travel mountains
Lay beneath starry night skies
Bask in sunlight and the sound of the ocean’s crashing waves
I hear the voice of Nothing echoing
off the walls of the vast universe
Is there some way to escape it?
I run and hide and pound locked doors
Then turn around and peer over my shoulder
And see still Nothing follows.
Pain, anger, hate and frustration-
All can be accepted or rejected or directed
Only Nothing is entirely evil, inescapable, unchangeable
For what can a person possibly do
With something that does not exist?