Words without things or time

I write down some words, a sentence a phrase, You, the reader, edginly agree, to ponder and wander through; a mist through a maze; take time, take minutes, take days. At the end you’ll feel saited, you’ll feel fufilled, glad that that your life waited, held anticipation, froze all accusations, for some words, a sentence a phrase.

Seeker.

Ok, I’ll cease with ambiguities, I’ve held you long enough, you’ve got things to do, and what I’ll expect you to see can come across as quite rough, but gaze a little longer, just one lifetimes more, here it comes; you are nothing.

Suspended.

For when you dropped everything to read nothing, your something shattered, was I supposed to make you feel goodness in glueing you back together? Nothing will make you feel better.

Contemplated.

Did you catch it? Your eyes float across the blackest of blacks, always searching for an apparent innovation, was a few rhyming signs supposed to connect the dots that you lack? To be your shining salvation?

Animated.

Did you hear it? Your ears recorded the abyss, but your mind played it back over and over and over, and at the end of all and any significant progress, thought “what did I miss?”

Crystallized.

Did you stir it correctly? Your tongue curled at the four syllables of a bland existential bite, thought I’d give you an oasis of something you’d like, but all your efficiency of cognition got you was a mouthful of sand, eating alone is an art in the blight.

Birthless.

Did you feel it? Upset, you smooth your hand over the void of perfection that is your lover’s skin, for while they sleep soundly, your insomnia begins, thought I’d give you a prized sculpture but now your hands are trembling too much, the wheel and wet clay spin nowhere and everywhere, maybe you could mould meaning if you could merely touch the tip of your finger with the tip of the very same finger.

Substance.

Did you smell it? Permeating the room is the stench with no source, yes I’m the dog that shat on your floor, not the cute or cuddly companion awaiting your arrival anymore, but the satisfaction found in your absolute absence. “Bad dog! Bad dog!” you shout, scream and yell, into your life I vaulted a horrible smell, and simultaneously by writing this I’m making you read and recognize, the strange and uncomfortable and forgotten scent of my arse.

Collection.

I’m sorry, it must be a hard pill to swallow, I must be a real someone to pretend to be a someone telling you “you are no one”, just because I thought, therefore I am nothing.

Spectrum.

Someone may try and tell you “all you need is love”, but no thing can love, and all ideas are useless for a thing that can’t think. A thing that thinks it can think about love says that all senses ignite in it’s fire, but you are extinguished, you are simply a moving gasp of air that fails to see a crumbling stone in the mirror of your myths. They say that the mountain and the molehill are good friends and throw great parties, because they both agree that they are worthless dirt.

Veil.

Now I’m making myself feel dizzy, I stood up too quickly and the world I’ve created leaves us both agitated, frustrated I tried to consummate though allegorical and sensual association that these myths we subscribe to cause a cetain castration, that the deviation you devoted from your dance through your life, to be told such a thing landed us both in a strife, left us feeling like devoid deviants. I’m sure the purpose you had before this was enough.

Demerged.

For through the infinite hell I’ve scolded you with, I now, if ever, want to serenade you with a melody you’ll never feel, see, touch, taste or hear: “All you need is nothing” let that be clear. Scary at first, this unquenchable thirst, but nothing could ever really be the worst, cursed and confused, intellect assaulted and abused, let the class without a teacher, envelope and wrap it’s colourless fragments around all that you were.

Superposition.

Because I mean it, “You are nothing”, now say that again, “I am no thing” for a “thing” is a noun we all agreed upon and decided, nothing and no thing are timeless and in these words you’ve pondered and wandered, a mist through a maze, in this sentence rose a river we can’t step in twice; nothing doesn’t need the towel of a bullshit narrative to dry itself, for it never gets wet.

Signal.

But I promise you, we’ll smile while we swim, for you can never drown in nothing.
You can never burn in nothing
You can never fall in nothing
You can never cry in nothing
You can never feel hopeless in nothing
You can never be ill in nothing
You can never be weak in nothing

Governance.

And just like that, when you took time, took seconds, took days, though it may take me an eternity to tell you, and another for you to see, you are but a beautiful timeless nothing, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

Nothing.