The Void

A chasm of nothingness.
It fills you like cold, inky, waters,
penetrating the very depths of your consciousness
till no trace of humanity remains.
You are a mere corporeal form,
never engaging with the world that surrounds you.
Disengaged, detached and distant.
Swallowed by endless, spiraling introspection.
The more you struggle and rage against it,
the more it draws you in; like quick sand for the mind.
A black hole that envelopes, not only you,
but all bodies that surround you.
Sucking the life out of everything
and slowing time to an unbearable crawl.
From whence does this void originate?
What was the genesis of its' being?
From a small seed of self doubt, or rather, self loathing
a large, gaping, darkness can be born.
Like all seeds, it only grows with nourishment,
to deny it sustenance is to win the fine fight,
but, how can we do this when this world seems intent on feeding it?
Feeding it in abundance.

Bleak - A Haiku

Black plague of torment
Unrequited love does burn
Swift death must follow

The Walk Home

Walking lonely late at night,
dark and stormy; no more light.
Lightning flashes, thunder booms,
waking sleepers in their tombs.

Keeping silent on the street,
cold and foggy; can't see feet.
Rain is pounding, gales blow;
freezing dreamers' ethereal glow.

Hoping on a final prayer,
damp and clammy; almost there.
Pain is stabbing, vision blurred;
crying curses never heard.

Sitting idle, home at last,
warm and comfy; pain has past.
Mind is ticking, open thoughts,
recalling memories time distorts.

The Butterfly

Bitter waters rush over summers bleak and past,

but never can they cleanse the fetid streets of stench.

Now comes the winters' vulgar raging,

reminiscent of bloody battle, old, wasted and flailing.

In this tepid tempest of diffused musings, I stand

teased, tormented and battered by flaccid self-worth.

I pause, taking note of a small butterfly flitting and flapping
lighting on an upturned rubbish bin.
Its wings are sapphire its' body ruby.
The tiniest sliver of sun pierces through the cloud,
I see God, there but briefly, in this dazzling creature.
I reach out, longing to hold close this brittle beauty.
Alas, disturbed, it flitters and flaps to alight on another mans memory.
I am alone once more, but I will carry the butterfly with me always.