the drive, the glow, the kind air disappeared from my heart a long time ago, it seems, and this is nothing but the last part of the breakdown, not so much as an aftershock than the very aftermath. i cannot break down if i am long gone; i cannot speak if i am emptyβ
and i am just empty, a quietly sitting void, a patch of vapor. the words do not come to me, and here i sit, artless. i think, this is where the anger should be, burning somewhere in the back of my mouth, or, this is where the sadness should come, turning my eyes to water,
but it doesnβt. it doesnβt. and so there i sit, then, empty.