The Void
After you, the air itself became carnivorous.
Like swallowing knives where the blood spilled within.
The body survives by reminding itself that
this is the only home that will ever shelter it.
Some nights, I hear myself scratching on my own walls,
behind the plaster, like a buried saint.
My love for you has not left; it had merely rotted,
sweet as fruit collapsing under flies.
Numbness is not resurrection,
neither is survival absolution.
But this emptiness in me is honest in ways you ever were:
it asks for nothing except its full weight.
So I entered it willingly, at last,
a dead star learning how to finally collpase -
embrace the void.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
