There is a certain limit to the
pain
someone can cause you and then
it is a nothingness.
There is no more room for it.
At first, it just hurts less,
but eventually,
it is nothing and they are nothing.
Life becomes clearer
afterwards.
nothing
Nobody
And today
I am nobody.
Nothing stirs by my hand
no one moves at my voice,
my freedom is absolute.
One lonely soul sitting
at a too-bright computer screen
poking at keys on a shadowy keyboard
is of little real or imagined consequence,
especially now.
I sit in a dark corner of a
room filled with a lot of
empty
space
and some junk
a laptop
and no personality or soul
reaches back out to me.
Nothing else draws breath or
thinks about the bitterness of these defeats
and the biggest failure one could have prescribed.
Nothing else.
I am nobody.
the fleeing of soul from body experienced through water drops
The water falls out in drops
that slap me gently,
making me blink,
and bead down my exposed face
and uncovered body.
Something runs away with the water
and it will never return,
each drop of water claws into some
memory
and tugs it down the drain
until I am left fighting to hold onto
anything that mattered
once upon a time.
The familiar numbness is revealed,
licking its lips and
waiting just behind me with extended fangs and nails
it waits for the final day when
the ultimate nothingness
replaces the human nothingness
and I join the infinite space of existence.
Nothing matters as the water
drains soul from my body
as acid eats glass
slow
steady
unforgiving.
The Nothing People
We are of nothing,
for nothing,
and going nowhere.
Tender, plastic kisses mask
a void we cram full of
Valentine's Day bargain love.
It's not the dollar's fault,
always searching for a way to move,
like the skin wrapped around your body,
always crawling,
path of least resistance,
going anywhere,
can't fight the monster you can't see or prove,
but can't stop feeling.
Our souls are tugged down,
by some inexplicable force,
spritiual gravity,
that never ceases to pull one towards the gutter,
as if anyone needed more convincing of where home was.
One could always look in the toilet and see which way life was going,
a man-made compass,
analogy for life in the most appropriate place:
where we fuck, release waste, and become clean,
in a rinse-repeat pattern of little value or specific order.
The Nothing People,
the only name fitting enough,
aside from maybe those-who-live-with-a-void-eating-their-guts/mind,
but that was already copyrighted by the cynical me.
As a kid I thought there was a way out,
always a next step for progress
-stupidity still reigns,
but the battle changed –
The meaning of life is the journey
and there is no achievement in that,
no victory,
but it's the hand we have been dealt
and have evidently chosen to play rather than fold.
The hand is destined to lose,
but like a gambling junkie fronted a few chips,
we can't put our hands down,
even when we are ahead a few,
addicted to the high of fake winning.
That's where we live,
with our nothing,
Andy Veilleux 