All around me there is a great and pressing nothing
Nothing I can do, nothing I can say, nothing that I may want
The waiting is for nothing, the hoping is for nothing,
My anger is for nothing, and it is for no one.
And yet I am angry at the nothing, in rage at all that is not.
Yet there is comfort in the nothing, for there, there is no pain or past
There is no sin a midst the nothing, neither is there light
There is only nothing,
and it will last and last