Into Nothing

I stared into a blank piece of lined paper for possibly an hour, following the margins and tracing the outside edges of the page with my pen. It was unlike me to draw a blank and yet here I was, emptier than I could ever imagine. What could I possibly write? How could I possibly articulate a feeling of nothing.

Impending emotions grow heavy on my chest as mental turns to physical and I am no longer capable of repressing. Not even the sound of my dog’s steady breathing soothes me as I continue to act as though I’m capable of refusing reality. In times like these I would desperately reach out, a phone call away, you’d promise me comfort and soon after I would drift to sleep.

Instead, I find myself in a constant state of self doubt. What was real? What was fake? Who was I to you and who did I become? Never have I ever found myself habitually questioning my own being. Never have I questioned my own words. But I understand now, I understand that sometimes after all is said and done, words turn into nothing.

Reminisce

I pick up my mug with both hands, slowly sipping from the lip and letting the steam gently grace the tip of my nose. Hot tea soothes the back of my throat as I place the mug back down on the nightstand next to me. I can’t seem to remember the last time I was able to sleep soundly without the help of chamomile and melatonin. What a privelage it was to come home from class or work, jump into a cotton abyss and soon after fall victim to my own weariness. Now I’m caught in my monotonous nightly routine: dinner, shower, tea, sleep aid, bed, stare at the ceiling for a couple hours, hopefully get more than 4 hours of sleep.

Come to think of it, before this nightmare of a routine began, what was even crossing my mind during those short moments before sleep? In most cases I’m going to assume it was a controversy between which outfit I was going to wear the next day, or possibly who the next bachelor was on my quest to find love. A common and habitually failing adventure of mine, let me add. Gone are the days of blissful romantics and picking out my outfit the night before, that’s for sure.

What do you do 
When a love so strong
Starts to take on a form of its own?
Do you let it run free
Like the wind through the trees
Or anchor it down to a home?
Will you tell them that I loved you?
Or neglect to speak the truth?
Give me the brush that you will use
To paint me the one uncouth

Though you drew yourself a tainted heart
Strokes of detail the world should see
I will hide those colors dyed too dark
Your work of art is safe with me
I can feel his whisper 
behind closed doors.
The harmonic undertones 
pass me by as I wrap 
myself in the smooth melody,
wishing to be the song he hums 
under his breath in 
the midst of darkness.