You’re an unwelcome visitor. Trespassing. You stomp through the serene meadows and swiftly chop down all signs of life. You hunt for sport. You kill for power. The enigmatic overflows of dreamless notes are devoured into your darkness.
In the after glow of a great book moment you eat away. Chipping. Gnawing. You gather in all the recesses. You are a plague.
Your hunger is insatiable. All that is will be yours. All that can be taken and broken shall be. You are an ever brewing wake.
In you I see evil. I feel it. Taste it. In you are all the darkest values and desires. To you life is what you can take out of it. What can be removed. Tangible, delectable, destruction. We are the galaxy and you are the sun. Revolved. Distorted. Your surface ever-changing yet mirrored.
You are hard to define because in that would be to know you. There is no one that knows you. Chopped character flaws. Descriptions and whispers.
To say you are anything would mean you were complete. You are without. You are wanting. Destitute and diluted.
I wish I had strayed away from you. Toxic and overbearing, misleading and mindful. We falter to those who need. Interpretations to the lust misunderstood. I’m left, pieces stranded, puzzle. Shapes. Angular and incomplete.
You are the night.
You are the nothing.