Emptiness surrounds us.
A zillion little nothings:
the only meaning
is in the collision
of all those little nothings,
making nothing, really.
This bastard brought into the world
wants to,
or not,
find others like it.
It's not easy
living like this.
It starts with a feeling,
then things take off:
a bottle and flame,
moving from green to white.
But no,
the feeling is my friend.
But at the end,
there's nothing left,
nothing, really.
Nothing to remind them
of all the wasted time.
Nothing.
