The Nothingness From Which It Came

The words come not as a melody but as a slow, mournful dirge, the kind that reverberate in the hollows of a heart long since emptied.

Don’t call me when your feelings get cut deep and you seek sympathy. Let the silence be your only friend in those hours, for I am no longer the keeper of your sorrows.

Forced to witness the dying breaths of some forgotten song. I will not stand beside you, a ghost among the living. As you chase the thrill of obscurity on the fringes of acceptance, I am no longer a part of that world, no longer a witness to your quiet revolutions.

In the aftermath of your storms, pause to consider the wreckage you left in my wake. When you sought after something real, you carved your path through me, leaving scars that do not bleed but ache with a silence.

So let the night claim its due, let the rain wash away the traces of you, and let this sad song fade into the nothingness from which it came.