There is nothing there for me,

but it always calls,

bright and insidious,

light and colors drawing me in.

Something in me loves the familiar patterns

and the smooth glass, like water.

Looking diminishes me.

The musical sounds interrupt

the living of my life, my own odyssey,

enticing me with promises that can’t be kept.

That I will be heard.

That I will be understood.

That I will be entertained.

That I will not be alone.

And so I look,

hoping for something that

will fill the hole in me,

the one that doesn’t actually exist.

But it is always the same beautiful nothing there,

leading me to the Great Forgetting

and stealing me from myself.