The sad fact of the matter is
There is no
Matter
Here
There is no sound
There are no words
No one
Here
Is truly
Speaking
Not even a ghost
No
Not even the snow
Would dare
Be so utterly
Non-revealing
There is nothing here
You hear nothing
You see nothing
For I am nothing
Nothing
Not even disintegration
Had the courage
To bless
Me
With its cold palpability
With some kind
Of heart-splitting crying
Some kind
Of hideous aching
I ached like a martyred thought
Pushing itself to form
I ached like the first word
That was ever spoken
In pain
