Absolute Solitude
The absence of sound,
including my own voice
as thought inside my head.
An encasement of blackness
so thick it could eclipse
any sun. Removal
of all remaining sensory
detectors. My body, prone
inside effigy of open
grave is my ideal heaven.
The Color of Salvation
Blackness, uninterrupted,
stares back at me from the clean
side of a window's pane.
The stark emptiness mirrors
my own, and I cringe at my lack
of desire to change. I wish
I was a different breed,
an adventurous bully with designs
to burn my name across every unscarred space,
but my hands are empty, and my heart
does not beat for fame. So I lie
still, imagining myself shallow,
waiting for silence, for breath,
for nothing to fill me,
to grant me purpose as perfectly antiquated
frame.
