Untitled long poem

Photo by dreamsjung

I like Nothing –
not in the sense of disliking Everything –
but simply the concept;
it’s peaceful, liberating.
there is Nothing more rejuvenating than a day of Nothingness.
no wandering of my mind to keep me awake,
empty thoughts and tranquility alone.
solipsistically ignoring the existence of other beings because Nothing is all that matters in this
no rushing hither,
and thither,
no work to be consummated cluttering the green card table that sits in my room,
no effort to be made in reciprocity to the stress that it builds,
no expectations forced upon me like a pressing stone from those I fear most.

Nothing is the shocking assuagement of the abyssal comforter you fall into as Nyx quaffs your essence,
the couch you fall into eternally after a day from Eris,
the familiar chair you fold yourself into when there’s nary a solitary Something to prevent you –
Nothing is peace – full of glorious emptiness in purpose.

Nothing is our oldest friend,
the one we never see anymore but miss, dearly,
especially in our busiest times.
we talk at night as I drift away to brief sleep;
but in our friendship, School interferes.
it stands between us and the friend who
we reach out to most when we don’t have the time,
as work piles up we procrastinate with our doll faced friend.
we talk,
and talk
of the days when things were choice, when we saw each other incessantly
though back then, we all hated Nothing,
because when we wanted to go out,
to have fun;
Nothing just wanted to stay in.
now we hold on for dear life,
we long for Nothing’s luxurious encapsulation of our cold, near-dead bodies –
it’s believing in us.

my time with Nothing is,
empty of the pain Something always exudes,
seemingly eternal fortuity –
Nothing to be done, so you can do Anything.

Nothing is as You are,
defined merely by your Chimera,
hog-tied and imprisoned by the beast that is your mind.
Nothing can schlepp you off to the outermost junctions of the cosmos –
Nothing can be Anything.

“so, what did you do this weekend?”
and it

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Thomas Bascom

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My poetry is random: no rhyme scheme, no metric pattern, capitalization defines Characters and Allusions.I'm a junior at Central High School, I play soccer and run, play piano, guitar and sing, speak Italian and French and am not quite sure why any of this matters to You either.
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