"Loneliness is human poverty— yet it breeds dissent like wolves in bone."
- Poet
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There is a forest in my chest— It grows no trees, only space where willows once stood. Where light rives in but answers nothing Illuminates only the certainty of Eclipse— Creatures born of Lack— drift-ice flecks of snow that fell inward and refused to thaw They pace in slippers threadbare unbearable—breeding Hunger into Dissent like wolf-teeth gnawing Bone. They are the sounds Lack makes when Loneliness grows lungs feral for the breath I still must spend— One day I’ll wrench them into Riven Breath of Sky— cavernous, storm-wrought yet clawing still— They’ll rasp the Void like blades through Snow my chest a Hive of emptied Bone— And I remain the Forest without Trees oozing riven Light that answers Nothing being inscribed in snow.
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