nothing at all

little drops of poison,
held in check
by a rigid position

a knife glinting sharp
stopped next to my jugular
with just a thought

       of nothing at all

in everyday humdrum
this is working
but what about dreams

when the toxins
seep through the cracks
the blade doesn’t stop
but goes straight for the heart
when all that saves me
is letting go and holding on

swallowing morning tears
burning as they run down
the back of my throat

honing my skill
that special talent
of thinking

       of nothing at all

free floating
in a cloud of
everyday monotony

pretending
there is

no poison
no knife
no life

       no


© Sybille Sterk
Do not copy or publish this poem in any way, shape or form without my written permission.

nothing at all

Sybille Sterk

Joined July 2009

Artist's Description

It’s a grey day out there…


MCN: CUQU3-B7TV8-QXVKT

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