Never Was and Isn't Going to Be

It’s like clinging to a piece of wood in the middle of the ocean.

It’s like staring at the light in the windows of houses from the dark.

It’s like singing a song into a vacuum.

It’s like thinking about things that are invisible.

It’s like talking and talking and talking about the words nobody ever hears.

It’s like reaching for somebody that’s not there.

It’s like all of the seconds

and all of the minutes

and all of the hours

and all of the days

and all of the years

are here and gone.

It’s like clinging to a piece of wood in the middle of the ocean.

It’s like laying in bed and never going to sleep.

It’s like sleeping and never dreaming.

It’s like there are two heads

with two mouths

saying different things

at the same time.

It’s like the sound of screaming that doesn’t ever stop.

It’s like not being born and dying.

It’s like sore eyes that never see anyone.

It’s like a phone that nobody calls.

It’s like an empty box.

It’s like a pot of soup rotting on a stove.

It’s like clinging to a piece of wood in the middle of the ocean.

It’s like the pages of books already read and already read.

It’s like that feeling that hurts so hard.

It’s like those thoughts that make you talk out loud.

It’s like November, December, and January.

It’s like February.

It’s like March.

It’s like it never was and isn’t going to be.

It’s like clinging to a piece of wood in the middle of the ocean.