For The Empty

If I wrote a poem of infinite sadness
The pages would be empty
For that is what sadness is
Emptiness

That hollow spot in your chest
Which you can never seem to fill
The dark spots in your mind
Tight to the light, afraid to let anything grow

How can one describe emptiness, sadness
Without the cliche
Down to the bare bricks of our beings
In the primordial ooze of our souls

How do you describe what exists
Where nothing exists
Where we become this fleshy mass of nothingness
Wrapped in a blanket of hopelessness

The complete and utter exhaustion
Of spirit, mind and body
Laid to rest on a mountain of sorrows we create ourselves
And allow to destroy us