On Emptiness

Woe is he
who stands at the edge of a vast abyss
and simply stares










Everything is happening the way I planned it
unfortunately, my predictions
involved a degree of pessimism
and now I am here
making connections
experiencing
and still very much alone






but am I?
I have friends
They strive to include me
I try to meet people
I am sociable
well liked



but alone



alonesty alonesty,
a feeling of my own making
a word of my own writing
why do my thoughts betray me
why do my words rest heavy only on my tongue?




I am a simple creature, perhaps,
one of habit
one of vice
I lust
I love
I laugh



But it isn't funny to me
I can point it out
like it's a character trait
like I have a dimple
like I smile funny
and people will remember me
but it isn't comparable at all
it is a stain on my visage
that only appears upon reflection



broken mirrors




broken mirrors.





I strive to write something with meaning
I am trite
contrived
worthless



horny
base
lustful
worthless



intelligent
creative
considerate



I am just one person
I am just trying to be happy




the meditation tape says that happiness comes from within
but I feel nothing
I am waiting to react
to what?


If we could make water from earth
no one would be thirsty



I thirst.




Maybe for an evening
if I could feel a purpose
like I haven't felt in a long time
an idea
a project
a woman
a project




woe is he
who stands at an abyss
and simply stares
He is drawn to it
it is magnetic
it holds his attention despite having little to no significance
it is beautiful
but only from above



Alonestly, I will push through this
I always do
but i hate it.


















fuck.