This bastard
brought into the world
searches for
or avoids
others like
it.
Stuck inside,
living like
this.
I once felt
something
with
a bottle and
flame,
moving from
green to white.
I would
stop, but
the feeling
is my friend.
Emptiness
surrounds us.
A zillion miniscule somethings:
the reaction
is from collision
of those
little somethings,
making
nothing.
But at the
end,
what's left,
nothing,
really.
Nothing to
remind them
of all the
wasted time.
Not a thing.
