Am I the empty nothing

With pockets turned 

and pain behind my ear, 

To ask and beg forgiveness 

from the closed fist, 

the nightmares where your ugly face

Is the putrid scum splashed on the pages

of your petty revenge, counted like fickle

Feelings of warmth in your heart; 

And yet, I feel myself nothing

as punishment serves me, 

tells me “you deserve it”

as nothing but luck sticks to the countless crimes

and tears you’ve left behind; 

and please, this nothing empty

reward my tremors with the sound of trumpets

turned, and turned, and turned in the pitchless time

because I remember every pain, 

my bones grown black mold and mush

where they were grinded and poisoned in this wealth, 

class of your highest mania

but my memories don’t stick, stick, stick

they don’t carve the world through the glass

because they are stuck, stuck, stuck with me

Nothing empty is with you as you gload yourself, 

the universe slips through the punishment scale

nothing and slipped and fell and failed

To give you anything, not because it isn’t cruel

because it’s cruel to me; 

And like the tick, tick of pain behind my ear, 

I know forgiveness is for the closed fist

rather than mine, pacifist

and Empty, I am Nothing

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