Makeshift Madness

The tragedy of the ever present nothing
is just that,
                           nothing
 
The good ol' void most deny having been
there but, I have seen them
at the tolls, paying those dues.
 
The black cloak that we've all worn
full of moth holes, it hangs in someone's
closet tonight.  
 
                        Oh nothing
                       you clever beast.
 
Captivating darkness,
pulling me in
or down,
I can never tell,
is it friend or foe
or just    

     nothing?