sometimes I feel like a still life
that won't sit right on the wall.
sometimes I feel like a guitar
with one broken string,
so all the chords come out slightly wrong.
sometimes I don't feel at all
and I'm not sure I mind.

I'm a study in grey.
And I've nothing to say
as I paint my portrait of dissatisfaction.

I eat ash with my hands
and ***** ink on the page.
And if I sit real still,
I swear I can feel myself age.

In a room full of silence,
I have conversations
with the space between echoes.

I'm always running,
but going nowhere.

I'll meet you in Big Nothing.