Nothing

Nothing


A gaping, burning hole
Deep within a heaving chest.
Silent screams pour
From frozen lips.
Liquid salt streams
From swollen eyes
Like acid:  It burns. . .


Fingers claw and scratch
At invisible bugs,
Gnawing at the soul.
Lungs wishing they could
Inhale the sweet breath of
Numbness, of Release of
Absolutely Nothing.


Hands, cold hands, longing to
Cool the burning within.
Feet try to move,
To walk, to run from the
Insanity:  In the mind and soul.
Soul.  Dead, cold, imprisoned
In the dark cave of despair.


Wait for the Black. . .
Wait for the Numbness. . .
Wait. . .
For Nothing.

©Brittany Jo Robertson