poetry: January 2008 Archives
I get no response
except being ignored.
Attempts to interact
are rebuked.
If you were to open my lid
You would see i am empty
But the suction of the vacuum
Keeps the lid on.
This vacuum pulls at my walls
The sensation is the turmoil of a black hole
bits flying chaotically
before disappearing.
Where was i
when i should have been filling up?
already full
of stress.
I am already dead
these movements are
only twitches and spasms.
I am death's rattle.
I am trying to collapse
into the black hole
of my heart
and disappear
copyright 2007 Deborah Bolle
