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What I feel is nothing,
No sorrow, no happiness,
No fear, no comfort,
Yet I smile and let it phase ,
Into an emotionless state.

A nobody with no desire,
I have tiny aspirations,
To keep me abode this plane,
Floating in existential dreams,
I wake myself up again.

To tread this life's path,
I think I wasn't chosen,
Or perhaps I chose to be,
To quell this tug and pull,
Of cosmic threads that hold me.

What I feel, I think not.
I think not, what I know.
I know not, a single speck.
Yet, I carefully maneuver,
For what I know, may not be.
Perhaps someday, I will know what I know :)
Rowan Deysel Dec 2023
You've had this thought before
The flowers on the window sill
The distant sound of a radio
The streets
The grass
The stars

The sky's dome above your head
Everything is normal on Earth
Exactly as it is now
Look up at the sky
God is in his heaven
God is in his heaven
A god who's very very silent

Home awaits
A beautiful serene place
Of mystery
And peace
The one thing you will never find again
All the love and patience of your friends
The tenderness you feel

You no longer live there
Those times are gone
And so are those people
Why did you come here?
Why are you still here?
You don't know

The freedom of finality
That's all you have now
The great see-through world
All things bright
Only you remain
You against the nothingness

It's not fire
It's not ash
Everything is calm
You can only sense the shape of it
A pit opening up in your stomach
A blank space
With no point of reference
Something that has always been there
A new reality
Barely out of sight
Where only one type of motion is possible
The motion of a human throat swallowing
A throat into which the world will vanish

What strange words to celebrate a new world

No cities
No oceans
No mountains

You can breathe now

And finally
https://theswayofmountains.bandcamp.com/track/clinging-to-the-collapse
In shadows cast, I stand, my heart feels sore,
Not beautiful, but "cute," at best, they implore.
Love's worth, in men's eyes, I can't seem to find,
Reduced to an object, desire defined.

A foolish dream, I once held in my heart,
To be loved, cherished, a meaningful part.
Yet, my hope, now crushed, I can't ignore,
As I see myself, just a piece to explore.

In this darkness, I resign my fate,
A piece of meat, to be hunted, innate.
Devoured by men's hunger, I now see,
In this harsh reality, my soul's decree.
Violet Feb 2023
Pain and shatter,
Feels like thunderstorm and rain.
Raging wars in the heart,
To either leave behind or stay.

But how can I leave?
I've dived in so deep.
Given so much,
Half of me exists in him.

There is no explanation,
No reason as of why it burns,
Like cigar in my heart,
Falling apart into ashes.

So, I might just stay,
Till my emotions turn gray,
Till I feel numb.
To nothingness I succumb.
-Loving hurts.
Lucis Jul 2022
Floating in thin air
I want to feel something
But nothing is there
Not happy nor sad
i just felt really bad
Grieving for nothing
Wishing that all of these would just disappear
All the problems and fear
But the time is ticking
Our world is moving drastically growing
So vast it ironically pinned us down to our feet
Making us prisoners of our own
Blank
A M Ryder May 2022
But what
Happens when
I just don't want
To get help?
Like I don't want
To convince myself
To live longer

I'm so through with
The population,
Being human,
And being myself

It's like I don't
Want to stick
Around and see
If it gets better
I don't want
To get better

I want to be dead
I want to be nothingness
Sabika Mar 2022
Can’t you see me crying?
Flames gnawing at my skin?
Can’t you hear my belting cries
Deep from the underbelly,
From the darkest depths within?

How much longer must you hide from
That which you’re not willing to address?
You put on a mask in your own home,
You cannot see what is amiss.
Must I spell it out for you?
Must I make it painfully clear that I am suffering?
Baffled by the change in behaviour,
You point the finger at me and say
I am to blame!
Is there no introspection on your part?
No patience when asking questions?
No curiosity when seeing my pain?
No time. No time at all.
No proof to hold,
My struggle must be in vain.

Nothing.
I get nothing from you.
No warmth.
Nothing. Nothing at all.
So cold, cruel, callous.
I cry I cry
I make puddles, pools,
Still you won’t believe me.
A M Ryder Nov 2021
Somewhere
Out there
A stillness
A darkness
Yet known
A nothingness
Awaits us
And it's better
That way

The purpose of life
Is that it ends
And people
Don't think
About death
Until they're
Forced to
noura Aug 2021
It is the mundanity of the act,
of envisioning your hand gently wrapped around the copper kettle.
Obstinately gripping the pen, while you wring a sheet of paper dry for the right words.
You, cupping my face as if you were holding something precious.
As if I might slip through your fingers.
It is this devastating simplicity that obliterates every shard of my being.
A brick wall, left at the mercy of a gleaming sledgehammer
that is determined to turn everything to dust.

I see your hands everywhere.
In the haze of steam and shower curtains,
the lines dragged in velvet throw pillows,
the cloudy smudges left on a glass of water.
They run faint paths through my hair, their touch ghosts against my eyelid.
If I stare long enough,
your palm is right there, pressing into mine.
Silver cuts through the air and delivers a redundant blow.
The dust scatters once more.

You did not leave a hole
the way everyone said you were bound to.
Empty space cannot exist without everything that surrounds it, yields to it, forgives it,
validates its gaping hollowness.
Empty space is a needle and thread on the dresser, a sellotape dispenser on the desk, a container of soup left on the doorstep with a get-well-soon scribbled on the lid.
Empty space is where you can see remnants of what once was whole.
The faith and conviction that bit by bit, you will put your fragmented pieces back together again.

The nothing you left was so thick and suffocating
that it permeated every room,
filled my lungs to bursting capacity and left me gasping for more.
Its sickly, bitter fragrance danced relentlessly in my nostrils,
as though my suffering was the sweetest symphony ever heard.
It waltzed until I could feel it rising in my throat and leaking from my eyes,
twirled until my head spun.
The nothing you left insisted on making its presence known my every waking moment
and then gleefully romped its way into my nightmares.

It was so quiet, though.
A resigned quiet, like that of the ****** swinging in the gallows,
when everybody holds their breath to watch the pendulum sway.
The crossbeam glistens with last night’s rain and
they trudge back home, muttering to themselves as the dust settles beneath their feet.
I sink into sheets creased by your fingers and watch it sway.
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