Abysmal
The air about my emptiness is so thick,
So fluid,
That the deepest of breaths leaves me choking,
Drowning on nothing,
Gasping for clean air,
But my world is too rotten,
There is nothing left that is pure,
Nothing left that is clean,
In the hallows of my hollowness,
The echoes bounce back at themselves,
Until the letters are left jumbled on the dirt,
Like the countless units in my mind,
Counting,
Always counting,
These are not seeds,
They will not grow,
But this lonely air will,
Fogging all but my thought,
Alone to dwell in,
Loudest here at night,
Though it takes only a whisper to send me spiraling,
Among abyss and voids,
Places I know well,
Almost like home,
There’s no place like home,
Because there is nothing at all.
Copyright © David A. Cain | Year Posted 2015
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