The Call of the Void

Aching, yearning, pulling
Fighting, claiming,
Calling

Always around, always demanding
To be known, acknowledged
Hidden in the dark. No, it is
The dark, oh, enticing danger

Personal, so close, that’s just
How things work, gotta dig the
Claws in, see the shimmering blood
To know all that can be known,
Inside and out

A possessive love, the worst
Of all, sickly sweet, nothing
That you need but everything you
Want. Draining, drowning. Nothing
And everything, all at once

The pit of despair, empty, echoing,
Begging for contentment, for aching space
To be filled as it once was, with life, with
Song and dance, with joy. Anything
But the hole that now resides

The artist, most pained of all, creating,
Crafting, designing, from the darkest of
Crevices in their soul, for if they
Searched anywhere else, it wouldn’t be
The same, wouldn’t be real.

Real pain, the kind you just have
To laugh at, since there’s nothing
Left to stop it, nothing to fight. Just
Laugh, laugh and maybe it will go away.
Like everything else

Folded legs, perched with laptop in stow,
Straining, the mind, the heart, to find
The truth, the reality. Rub it raw so that
It too can bleed, suffer like the rest of us,
Or maybe just me,