A Nothingness

July 29, 2017
By ATroubledWriter GOLD, Pace, Florida
ATroubledWriter GOLD, Pace, Florida
16 articles 0 photos 6 comments

Favorite Quote:
“The words you can’t find, you borrow. We read to know we’re not alone. We read because we are alone. We read and we are not alone. We are not alone. My life is in these books, he wants to tell her. Read these and know my heart. We are not quite novels. The analogy he is looking for is almost there. We are not quite short stories. At this point, his life is seeming closest to that. In the end, we are collected works.” ― Gabrielle Zevin, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry

It's a rush of nothingness.


A silent cacophony of quietness.


Hidden behind baggy eyes due to lack of sleep


A tiredness that is more than just skin deep


She struggles to wake herself up


She has been on and off all night


Her brain driven by paranoia and anxiety


She listens to the music it plays defiantly


But it doesn't give up.


It eats at her;


It is the excess oil in her hair she cannot bring herself to wash


It is the dirt underneath her nails from scratching her filthy scalp that she gives herself time to dig out


To pretend she is being productive...


It is the plaque that stains her teeth that she cannot bring herself to brush even though it makes her mouth stink


She can feel the grime as she runs her tongue over each one, 


Puts her finger between her lips and begins to scrub


Even though she knows it's not enough. 


It is the ache in her bones that tells her not to get up


It is the violent modd swings that make her want to give up


It is the panic attacks in the middle of the night 


Her heart beating out of her chest and she knows it's useless to cry


But she just can't help it. 


It is the body odor that wafts into her nose when she moves an inch


If she just reached her arm out to the right she could grab her deoderant stick


But her arms are too weak. 


She has been laying in bed for sixteen hours


Mealtime has passed and her stomach writhes in pain as it begins to scour


All it has in storage is bile and the bones of a broken girl


Her mother begs her to get up, 


Tells her she's worried.


While she tries to feel any emotion at all because everything is so blurry.


Is she mad? Sad? Down? Blue? 


No, she concludes.


She is just a nothingness that all of her nothing consumes. 

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