I don't get it.
I don't get it. I don't get it.
What are these empty points? These blanks spaces in my mind?
These holes, these hollow pockets, empty pits found deep inside
Where information goes to die, where cognition is nonexistent
Where hiding thoughts rest, where I can't find.
I don't get it. I don't get it.
I don't get it.
Why must everything be gone? Be lost? Be in this Stygian blackness?
Why must it all evade me, and why mustn't it all fit?
Why has it all decided now is the perfect time to come crumbling down?
Why must it all decide here and now to flee, bit by bit by bit?
I don't get it.
I just... I just don't get it.
YOU ARE READING
Feelings Without Names
PoetryA collection of a college student's poems, used to explain his emotions when single words do not work.
