There’s this space.
This space in time where most falls.
The remains feel like lingering memories of the past.
Not of the now.
Shaking, breaking, repulsively pulling.
Trying to find the one that once was.
Nothing fills this cup.
In the stillness.
A great eruption of anxiety filled flood flows through the cells.
Speaking a story that it’s time to move.
There is nowhere to move.
All has been done.
No purpose in sight.
Just a blank mind.
A sunken heart.
And a last gasp of life.
Helen Rebecca Hart.