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Echoes

all for naught.

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thrashing in silence
trapped in emulative
echoes of absence
with nary a word
naught
not you
nothing.

No single utterances
of thought
not even a ricochet
of synapse
wavering
before spark,
before a flare
of hope
connection
cognition
realization
before screaming
in cemented frustration
of being so completely
lost and
in the dark.


Whitewashed ragged fibers
staring salaciously
at me without mercy
laughing
mocking garrish
mimicking sodden gapes
barren tears of dust,
of nothing copulating empty,
meaningless scratches
gyrating
fucking your head
raw and naked
you, thrashing,
screaming in frustration
cementation, not insemination
itís all artificial now any ways
already a foundation for the dead
a stone coffin
lifeless echo
void of whispers
resonating
this life now
void of you.

Updated 12-28-2018 at 09:51 PM by Echoes (I wanted to.)

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