A world where nothing matters is a world where nothing’s seen.
A world that’s full of nothing is a world that cannot be.
A world where something matters is the lie that we believe.
An empty heart cannot start without something to receive.
A lie cannot contain it.
It’s heart is inky greed.
An empty world in an empty space as emptiness proceeds. Sometimes the right in wrongs will write right stories it seems.
But wrong lines of speech, screaming in the deep, broke soulless shattered water. As I see the dark, I see the abyssal ways in life’s everlasting lie.
In inky tendrils that I watch and that leap into love’s purest light.
The clouded vision becomes our purpose in the process of corrupting sights. Blighted eyes, bloated faces, flesh twisted in disguise.
Grinning skulls, sick old fools, and dripping, drooping, dreams.
Slipping away into the night in emptiness it seems.
Empty as a rusted bucket peppers with rough brown holes.
Empty as a riverbed that dried out in the cold.
Empty as a childhood dream that broke a person’s mind.
In the end the emptiness is the only thing we find.