Nothing is not pain, and somehow not as simple as being no more than nothing would explain.
Vaguely showing signs of love Tamely cooking up meals of modesty bravely ******* up priorities, honestly I though for a time those emotional commodities were none existent Reminiscent of nothing. I didn't know of loving and my weekly rations of half arsed hugging didn't feed an appetite for much more than pokemon cards and chicken nuggets.
What child would grow in a void of the unknown to love the people who left them alone and longing whilst furnishings and trinkets they bring in as if to say that a child is no more worth a thought than the millionth handbag or lamp shade brought. And to that child these things are nothing. Nothing in love and nothing in family and yet more worthy of attention and affection than them, but that's fine. Such consistent rejection had some effects on me and I found my joy in toys and confectioneries.
To know the familiar face of nothing and paint on that blank canvass a picture of something easier to define for the lack of light and in some morbid way, that may be my blessing; A comprehensive and profound understanding of the things I'm missing.