THE TEXTURE OF DARKNESS

The Texture of DARKNESS

I am here, yet no where as far as the eye can see. Though, I see nothing; No, less than nothing. As if the "nothing" had been sucked into itself to an infinite degree and is a place unto itself.

And I wonder, as the void envelopes me in its' cocoon, "Are my eyes really open, or closed?" Do I have eyes? I blink, just once to be sure, afraid to close my eyes again while pondering the nothingness -- a velvet shroud in which I seem to float, where "open" or "closed" has no meaning.

I strain to hear, imagining a faint electronic whine where there is none. It is only the inner sound of my own circuitry otherwise unnoticed.

My body is still, rigid, afraid to move for fear of plummeting from some imaginary perch which, unfelt, I assume must certainly be there.

I fear to speak into silence, lest there be no sound where there is none.

I am here, or not, in this velvety nothingness waiting for something.