Emptiness

Emptiness

At one point, I had felt a deep emptiness in my soul that had been an empty chasm. Without light or feeling, the emptiness threatened to swallow me whole every morning and every night. As soon as the sun rose and as soon as the sun fell, I could hear its sorrowful whispers in my ears and could feel its shadowy hands grasping me. Many would call it sadness or would ask if some great experience in my life would've caused it, but no, this emptiness was not sadness. Sadness could not even compare to this feeling of emptiness. It was like my stomach was trying to eat me whole while my heart was trying to fold in on itself. Like my blood no longer wanted to flow through these useless veins, and pain wanted to pass through these sensitive nerves.

Emptiness is a word that cannot be described, and no matter how hard I try to explain it, I truly could never. You could never understand my emptiness as though, as if, maybe, just maybe, during those times, I was more a dead man walking. Now I am a revived man, yet sometimes that Emptiness whispers. The vast nothingness calls to me and touches upon my soul and wishes to eat all that is. When that emptiness claims me once again, I wonder if anyone will notice my husk. Suppose anyone will notice the ghost of the man sitting next to them or even talking to them.

But even if I know that it will claim me, I will not let it claim me soon. I finally have grasped something that I can call fully mine, and I am turning it into something. Through my emptiness, I have learned determination that borders on madness. A wish to be seen and heard. A desperate plea for my words to not just be words but to mean something in the greater scope of things. Yet I am worried that I am just yelling out into that emptiness and that these words will just be the words of a fool who will never go to the places he so desperately wants to go. I want to reach out and find the people who will listen and appreciate, yet I feel so trapped like the emptiness wants to take me again. It leaves me wondering if maybe, just maybe, these words will mean nothing. If these words that I have taken out of my soul and plan the onto this very page will be forgotten and no longer heard. Just for a second, I want to be heard and recognized not for my talent but for my passion. Because this is my passion, this is my soul laid bare, removed from the emptiness that I call my old bland life, and instead a window into the true man who you are seeing now.

Maybe this desperation is just that, desperation. Maybe when I get the attention that I want, I will drop this passion and just claim it to be one of my talents, yet I don't want to. I don't want this feeling to end. This feeling of bliss and discovery. It is so far from the emptiness that it is one of the most amazing things I have ever grasped. The emptiness that surrounds me can not snuff out this flame. Even as its heinous mouth seeks to consume me whole, I will wrap my essence around this very flame, and I will protect it until it can scorch the very earth around me. The,n the emptiness will consume me again, but this time, I will gladly fall, knowing that I had caused an impact on someone and that I would not be forgotten. The emptiness will never fully get to claim me because someone, if anybody, will remember my impact and a piece of me will live on through these pages.