An endless cacophony of meaningless noise.

As seen in every answer she writes,

Ink puddling on the page margins.

There is no purpose in what was ever sought.

We only seek the impossible, 

Ink draining into her tear ducts.

Her destiny doesn’t exist, 

Scorched with a meaning image,

Ink stretching forever into everywhere.

But when all else has failed, 

Those darkened eyes can open again,

Ink stained eyes burn into the chalkboard.

Supine. Sempiternal. Susurrous.


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