I cannot bear emptiness that sits motionless or purposeless
While the bearer wreathes in acute tragedy
Wondering where her life begins
Or where it ends
Carving our lives out of soapstone, staring into vacant nothingness
Breathing only because one must breath
Feeling hollow, hard, and somehow cold
Rubbing our bodies against the world
Because we say we must feel
The friction instigating only warmth
And white sparks
It is not until the circle completes, that we finally realize
That indeed, our dreams are only figure eights
And that we have been chasing a shadow