Nothing
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I know Nothing, and I know it well,
for it ensures that my head doesn't swell.
Nothing is something to gripe about,
it outlasts my compulsion to shout.
Nothing is the stuff of sleepless nights,
as confused as deer caught in highlights.
Nothing has no weight or feel to it,
the legacy of a hypocrite.
Loss of innocence is a slow theft,
and then, Nothing is all that is left.
And Nothing cannot be washed away
by tears if it is allowed to stay.
Nothing is frightening to confront,
an empty gesture, it's an affront.
Nothing can obscure my path to love,
challenging my heart to rise above.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2023
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