The pale wanderings we took the other day,
they failed to compel me to find a better way.
But then again,
who's to say
that this lack of compulsion
is not the better way?
I ran circles
over those words
echoing so loudly still.
And I know I could fight it,
but I held on
for lack of something real.
I feel your emptiness
as a certain appeal,
maybe for lacking
that ability to feel.
I envy the nothing
you will soon become,
and the sheer emptiness
that has begun.
You are the very loss
for which I used to search.
And yet your memory
is such a sweet curse.
I feel this hatred and anger
swelling to its peak,
and I swear I'll take that nothingness
to its final release.
