Why do we fall in love
with emptiness?
Why do we chase the void?
Somehow, nothing
is more comforting than something
sinking heavy in your stomach,
a reminder that
gravity binds us to the ground.
Maybe if we were filled with air,
we could float wherever we pleased,
refusing to relinquish control to the earth –
but something sits hidden away
in the nothing,
begging for more,
whispering that we will die if we don't
stuff ourselves up to our necks.
And we oblige; we
like the allure of weighty things
so we pack them in,
stretching our skin, and we
fall flat on our faces when
inevitably,
it becomes too much to stand.