Emptiness

In the depths of emptiness,

I find myself waiting.

A page turns, and the couch no longer

holds me captive, eyes heavy,

resting against the pillows, lost in reflection,

as thoughts swarm like bees, drawing nearer,

before fading into the realm of slumber.

If I could write while driving, or write while walking,

the words would dance with rhythm.

They would weave meaning, instead of echoing woe, woe, woe,

loneliness, an empty cave,

regret, a burden of rocks suspended above me by ropes,

heaviness descending,

this life, these choices, oh no, no.

Yet here I am, seeking an escape.

Running toward an unknown path, unsure if the place left behind

is any different from where I'm heading.

Something slips away from me. Something grows within.

Gears and wheels turn, leading to... what?

Leading to an island of solitude, where I am the sole inhabitant,

lifting the tarp to dust off forgotten memories.

Drawing back the edges, leaning forward with a sigh,

gazing into chasms filled with webs and dreams frozen in time.