Staring at the ceiling before I drift off to sleep,

I think of you, of him, of all the times

I've let myself down and let you down too.

I'm not quite sure who "you" is anymore

really, it could apply to anyone-

I think you know who you are though.

And the truth of it all is, I don't know

where to find happiness anymore

I read the first half of a book,

it made me happy;

but not the kind of happy I used to find

In a shared popsicle or a day with my dad.

When I was younger, I felt nothing.

I blocked it out and assumed

the responsibility of older me would suffice.

Now, I'm dealing with the repercussions-

feeling everything I've put off.

I feel lost, empty, pointless.

But I can't blame it on anything now,

can't blame it on the boy who hurt me

or my parents because I'm almost moved out.

These are my weights to carry;

If only I can find the strength.

Shiftless

Shapeless

Darkless

Darkless?

Lacking dark?

Bright

without light?

Nothing,

or everything

hinting at

Sunrise.

You know that feeling that you're drifting through life - a ghost - moving on autopilot down the corridors in school? It's so cold inside of you, like there's a literal void inside that is slowly growing and growing like a tree. Like a tree, you hope it will die, but it will probably live for way longer than you will because you don't know how to cut it down.

All you can focus on is the inside. The inside of your head. The inside of your heart. The inside of your soul. Hoping that they won't be engulfed by the void just like how a phagocyte engulfs a pathogen.

The sounds - laughter, talking, walking - they all amplify in your head as if there's nothing in your head and it bounces off the narrow walls freely.

But there's still nothing. Everything is still empty.

Life ends in a vacuum

No one can call you home

It made sense to leave

The city was loud and filled with people

I didn't want to know

A black screen chewed all day long

On my miserable reflection

Scratching up white pages

With my meaningless jargon

And even when the highway was desolate

It echoed back to me

Night's stomach was always growling

With discontent of gnawing

On clumsy speeding tin cans

Lamenting the land it once had

Before we yanked the stars

From of its mouth

And the house I shared with you

Wasn’t quiet at all

Its stillness roared like thunder

The loudest silence I knew

I understand what it was only now

The noise of one

Being ripped in two

Underappreciated

Overworked

Spiraling in a spiral

So windy not even God

Can see the end and it keeps

Going and going until

You reach a dead end and you have to turn around

But at this mark you’re so turned around

You can’t tell the ceiling from the ground

And the ground seems like a nice place to be

Because being is as inevitable as dying

But being just means spiraling

Not spiraling but bottling

Bottling and exploding

Exploding nothing because the bottle forgot what was inside

It’s been sitting there for so long

You can’t tell why, but you’re crying

Crying so hard and heaving

Not heaving but hurting, definitely hurting

And your eyes get all messed

And you try to block the sound

But you can’t tell the ceiling from the ground

And since they’re the same

At this point you’re already flying

So why not get some wings to reach the heavens

To touch the sun to touch the rain before it forms

The bottle before it gets shaken

The muscles before they ache

The heart before it breaks

Yourself before you’re taken

Just to sleep before you’re so exhausted that you can’t

To not climb but live atop the mound

And to tell the ceiling from the ground

The stars disappeared a long time ago. When a great battle arose and filled the sky with gray. When a two great solders lost their life to save the rest. When the smoke cleared, the stars were gone. leaving an empty vat for the sky. the moon was the soul object floating in the pool of nothingness.

Then another sacrifice was made, and the moon wasn't alone anymore. The sky was no longer filled with nothing. It became full of shards from her armor.

A circle you are

A ball we throw

A lonely place

You have a lot now

But remember when you were born?

You were just a space

You got the name Earth

But you had nothing

Only a few lines

Empty Earth you were

You were going around and around

You now have seas and trees

You still are empty

Nothing to give life

Round and round you go

Empty Earth you were

Now you have human beings

Moving inside you

But oh how empty you are

Nobody sees you

Little Earth of ours

You running in circles

We keep throwing you like a ball

We still can't see you

Empty Earth you still are

Came to give happiness

But sadness is what you take

Polluted seas and cut trees

Bombs and wars

New lines and destrotion

Empty Earth of ours

You are now invisible

Thrown to a big hole

Goodbye, hun. I hope you understand how empty I felt in the weeks after. I find it funny that you were "worried I'd go into a dark place," as if you really cared. You claim to have felt an emptiness between us, but never seemed to feel compelled enough to talk to me about it. All I ever wanted was to make you happy, and yet that void you seem to have been so worried about kept getting more obtrusive. Well, I hope you're happy in your empty little work bubble. I don't plan on popping it.

As one becomes older one becomes more-and-more empty-minded. To start, one begins to lose their appetite. So when somebody asks them whether they are hungry, they refuse. And even when one is, they do so simply because they cannot remember what they liked to eat...And as everybody knows--no one can think on an empty stomach!

If thinking on an empty stomach wasn't hard enough, how about trying to remember on an empty stomach? Waking up hungry in front of the television, one might not be able to recall how they got there! What's more, questions like "Did you remember to eat your breakfast?" begin to take one back to childhood. As it's said: it takes more thought to remember something than to make something up--it's not that we didn't forget to eat our breakfast, it's that we just didn't want to!

At this point, one might ask their self: "Why bother to remember this stuff?" To this, somebody replies: "To remember whether to serve you orange juice or coffee." Which one should reply: "Isn't that your job?" And then, silence...until one takes a sip and remembers "what it was like to drink this for the first time..." just before falling into a forgetful, empty-minded dream.