There was never room for anything other than emptiness. How ironic, for there to be no room for something not there...but then again...what is emptiness?
Emptiness is the feeling that consumes me when I feel nothing at all. It's the one thing that could kill me without ever leaving a trace. It's the feeling of impending oblivion in which we cannot stop. Emptiness lives inside each hurl I force myself to produce... when nothing comes up and I sit there heaving in a bathroom stall labeled 'Vacant'.
There was never room for anything other than emptiness. For how could there be room for something so desolate? As if this was never enough, I visualize myself swinging from a necklace of rope without a care, for how could I care when I am no longer there?
There was never room for anything other than emptiness. As I try to fill the void corrupting me with the pills beside my mothers bed. Trying to kill the thoughts inside my head, thoughts of scrubbing my hands raw from the carmine stains that will never go away or how I tried to cleanse my lungs from a bare vessel with bottles of bleach. Maybe if I fill myself with something I won't feel so empty?! Fill my casket with dirt and soil, fill it with water and cement, fill it with blood and sweat, fill it with guilt and regret, fill it with agony and tears, fill it with all of my fucking fears, FILL IT WITH ANYTHING...anything...just so it won't be as empty as I once was.
I unintentionally think about these things most of the time...sometimes...Although I intentionally think about these things most of the time...all the time...
Now my body lay bare...although I was empty...I used to be there.
