Nothing.
Nothing says a lot to me. Sometimes nothing says more than Nothing. Nothing is what i stare at, what stares back at me, what considers me with it's cold, blank eyes. Eyes alive and dead at the same time. Eyes that say, this, this is your legacy. This is what you have become. This stark, whiteness, this pale desert. This is the sum of your thoughts and since thought is the proof of being then i am by definition nothing. For while worlds crash within and galaxies are formed in the tohu vevohu of my inner chaos and matter spirals outward to rebound off a cage of bone and groups around unseen forces with violence incarnate to brood. While loathing and lament find common enemy in self and war is raged against hope and wisdom and the heart is torn asunder with trenching shovel and sanguine bayonet. While roaring is my lullaby and shrieks are my sonnets and the shriveling coward in the corner bears suspicious resemblance to the cursing hiss going about his daily mining of salt without! While fingers froth and mind seethes to reach out and finally, finally, finally ram home, prime and with the barest twitch of a twitching prisoner released from the torturous pit send all into that cruel, white desert a Rachmaninov eruption of all within to all without!
While all that rages within, nothing, nothing, nothing moves without. Words smatter across the screen and are deleted by the next wave of doubt. Conscience knows the need, Passion urges action, Lord of Lords, even Desperation knows that this drought must, must, MUST be broke before mind and screen crack with the dryness!
And yet, the words fell, feel, flee...
and still there is the blankness, the pale desert and a short stormburst of madness that the desert drinks in one gulp without softening. And turns. And waits, wears, watches the horizon for a promising cloud.
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