an end

the unhealthy hollowness under my throat

absorbs every dry breath I take

searching for a taste that is not there;

I have run out of substance

and ink-

hmm.

every intake is stale

the aftermath of yesterdreams

that leave me swallowing

and biting hard on nothing.

pain.

like a fingernail ripped apart

too close to the skin

raw like an ugly, unholy, filthy truth

i-

I miss writing about nothing

and everything

forgetting how it started

making up how it ends

as I tumble along

because things that don't exist

(yet)

are the best to alter,

like life before it went

terribly wrong.

like a beginning.