I miss you oh fleeting,

To drive with purpose.

To have purpose and reek of abandonment,

To be abandoned to nothing more than thoughts.

To think and be empty

I am one with my absolution.

 

It feels like death, cold and ruthless.

Dark to the core.

There is so much silence here.

Being one with nothing, a fading afterthought.

Cursed in devastation.

For I am generic and bereft of all things.

 

Solitude to all times.

Indistinct and desolate, yet weakly masked.

Un-pure and destructive.

Perhaps there will be a special place in hell for such am I.

Change, it destroys, and is ever mindfully beautiful.

Bittersweet, so welcome silence.

 

These harmonious, yet piercing aches drive insanity.

For I am ever the same unbending, unrelenting, hateful.

Consistent in my devotion.

Unwavering in my heart and comfortable in its void.

Is this peace? Is this joy? Is this truth?

It must be for I am here and this is mine.