plenty of nothing

walking the streets in the early hours

hoping to meet no one

plundering the depths of self-hate

huddling against the cold

the same thoughts going over

& over

how full of shame I was

waste of skin & bone

hoping death would come

not in any dramatic way

but cold as the stone wall I sat on

because when you are young

the infinity of nothing is preferable

than this creeping stifling of blood

no energy to move forward

even less to go back

mute & bound to the moment

no ideas to do anything

just alone & sad

& nothing prepares you for this

no words no comforts

this is yours alone

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