Suspended in a dusky spell,
I wait for all my worries
To come collect my night.
I look them in the eyes
And entertain their every possibility.
I accept them as my only friends
Frightening, yet so familiar.
I draw a lukewarm bath,
And let all things pass.
Chew on a mouthful of rotten fruit,
And consider the naivety with which
I labored away all my days
With sweat in my palms and bare feet
Rooted in dry, hopeless dirt
All for nothing.
An infinite, hollow, hateful nothing.
And to hear myself admit it,
Is like a quiet crushing.
A step in the snow
A fist full of foil
That undeniable sound
In absolute silence.
For nothing, for nothing, for nothing.
I let myself go,
And sink backwards into the mud.
“You have to do what you love.”
They say with a belly full of blood.