When The Nothing comes,
it is swift yet slow.
Drawn to the site of a cut,
it finds its way in.
Under the skin it creeps,
through the veins and into your blood.
Up to the heart
and the game is done,
The Nothing has Won.
When this happens you won't see it coming.
For The Nothing is all you will know,
all you will feel,
and what you're becoming.
The Nothing consumes you
until you're hollow and drained,
where not even a drip
can be squeezed from a vein.
Then die long before
there is a tear yet to shed,
there is a name for this,
it's called the Living Dead.
-2016
The Absence of Handsome
YOU ARE READING
The Nothing
PoetryA poem of a shattered spirit. When the light in you begins to fade and flicker into darkness, when the numbness of grief takes hold.
