THE PATHWAY
My world roils with emptiness
Great black boiling clouds of nothing
I am a brass shell of emptiness
Legs and arms attached
Without feeling or weight.
I look outside for substance
Something to fill the blackness inside
Nothing looks solid enough to bouy me
It will do no more than briefly fill the void
Before swirling down a black whirlpool.
The reality of food is nothing.
A short cessation of empty feeling,
It withers in the grey mists that mass
Grimly triumphant in their lack of being.
They have no body to defeat.
Swelling with nothing;
My body grows fat from stuffing.
Inside me the emptiness grows.