I scratch at it
The pain only grows more
but how?
Why?
The wound begins to open
It spreads from the nothing, I have in my chest
I continue to scratch at it, even against the wishes of others
I fear that this wound will do me in
I plead with doctors, to sow it up
I ask the scientists to preform tests, to fix it
I pray to gods and the universe, to calm the itch
But all reply with a solemn sorry, and a pat on the head
Now I begin to ask myself
How can I stop scratching at the wound that comes from nothing in my chest?
I have tried it all
Love
Hope
Travel
Peace
Violence
Rage
Sleep
Everything
Maybe it is not my chest that itches?
Maybe it is not my chest that has the wound?
Maybe it is not my chest that has nothing?
Maybe it's my hands that itch
that have wounds
that produce nothing
I don't know
Maybe.

Dawn awakens me
Nestled in your arm
Rested as can be
Peacefully warm

Noon I am full
Of food and love
Can’t resist your pull
Sweet as a dove

Dusk I am tired
Of all but your love
The day all but expired
Nestled warm in our cove.