The Empty.

[rewiiired]

Perhaps its the scent of deceit that chokes me
lingering about this silent conversation
if so, it's simply irrelevant
for if what spills fourth here is truth
all effort is consequently futile

sometimes I think it might be best
to just eliminate you from the equation,
pretend this never happens,
dismiss you as another myth

yet your black eyes draw me in
I'm somehow inebriated on the psychic venom
ping-ponging thoughts and images
from between the spaces behind our faces

so what am I to do with this
with my back against the wall, cornered,
hands tied so tight my wrists are rubbed raw
with the aide of friction from involuntary writhing?

but that's the omnipresent question
you're here, ever near to answer
so I close my eyes, build up a wall
yet still you break on through

so go ahead

show me it falling down
that cracking,
those explosions, let me watch
it all go up in flames, monstrous waves crashing
bodies mangled, disease flourishing,
show me everyone dying
just to read and feed off my reactions

wish I didn't have to give you the pleasure,
but I'm not like you,
so empty you're not even cold

wish I knew how you could ever hope to understand
in light of this fundamental gap between

you can't bridge everything
you could never be me
and despite the growing sense of futility
of what you plant inside, have blossom before me,
I'll never for a moment allow myself
to be brought back down to you,

Your hope is empty.
Do you hear me?
Fucking empty.