Its Nothing that I hate more than anything.

It’s the apathy, boredom, listlessness, indifference

The wandering directionless

that is more painful than any pain.

 

I stand three feet outside reality

An outsider

Speaking philosophically of practicalities

Drawing on memories of a Self that once lived.

 

It’s nothing that whispers silently

Pounds continuously, monotonously.

I feel it following me in the dark of night

Holding me in the light of day.

It’s nothing that wears many masks

Holds many identities

All of which claim to be me.

Peaceful Nothing

Depressed Nothing

Stable Nothing

Deep Nothing

Nothing Nothing

If only I could find something.

 

I turn the music louder

Dance harder

Run farther

Drowning out the quiet of nothing

With the sound of a thunderous noise.

 

I go many places and accumulate many somethings

Shoving the Nothing beneath them all

Always moving, Always doing

Longing for a moment’s respite

But knowing that respite means Nothing.

 

I bury myself in piles of books

Maybe wisdom is something

But it silently gnaws at me, claws at me

From behind a million useless thoughts.

 

I travel mountains

Lay beneath starry night skies

Bask in sunlight and the sound of the ocean’s crashing waves

I hear the voice of Nothing echoing

Bouncing

off the walls of the vast universe

Is there some way to escape it?

 

I run and hide and pound locked doors

Then turn around and peer over my shoulder

And see still Nothing follows.

 

Pain, anger, hate and frustration-

All can be accepted or rejected or directed

Only Nothing is entirely evil, inescapable, unchangeable

For what can a person possibly do

With something that does not exist?