The Void

Young souls think about the question of existence a lot until it changes into 

a question of loneliness

Loneliness so profound that 

it develops teeth 

Teeth that chew and eat and bite 

A home, a hearth, a family, all singular 

fades into the memory of time

Because sometimes when you are stupid and a girl on top of that

You imagine yourself cheerful, 

the world a bed of flowers 

The yellow charms your eyes, it blinds

But, happiness my dear, happiness

if it had just been love or romance 

or intimacy 

A woman's eyelashes may drop dead

and you won't even have a clue 

That's how it is, when you try to get hold 

of something extremely tight

That's when it really snaps 

Now, the odor of paint on my wall, 

the stain of whiskey glasses 

on my unkissed lips, 

the paraphernalia of vases and 

lights and organic oils, 

me being the perfect host, 

voices dancing, 

drowning over familiar yet unfamiliar heads, 

the falling roof, all singular

Smell more of my perennial loneliness than memory bartered with real human beings 

And you ask me what is enough

Maybe nothing really is 

Nothing really was 

As the winter sun eludes the towering presence of a cloud 

I obsessively think of the dying, washed, clean echo of feminine grief

Is love supposed be a brutal irony between lethal cold and the warmth of 

arms around you? 

I can never know that 

Because last night when when they tried to cover me a little too much 

while I was begging for some sisterhood

I died with a lump in my throat 

I swear I called out your name

It helped to feel less 

But the voice died in the distance before 

it had any chance to reach you 

You see, there is a gigantic distance between being heard and being understood.