White Noise

I can’t think through the distance
Can’t breach my own damn mind
Just listening to nothing
White noise all that I can find
It fills up all the distance
With it and nothing else
It fills up with emptiness
And only there I see myself


There’s a line I do not cross
It would put me beyond parody
I could not stand the loss
True genius does not fit, you see

I would lose my great facade
Faced with the child that I am
And in trying to be a god
Be only that much less than man

The Hole

You know you have a hole to fill;
You carry it around.
So as you see us standing still,
The questions run aground.

Why leave behind a shovel
Just to cover with a tarp?
Because some things are never full,
And shovels can be sharp.


Frantically, she tore up the floorboards. “It has to be here!” she half-screeched, as she darted to and fro, searching different places. In the end, she collapsed, crumpling into a heap in the middle of what was left of the floor. Her bleeding fingers pulsed with pain, a reminder, and her glazed eyes wandered to one of the places where she’d torn up the wood. There should have been something underneath of it. A secret passage, a beating heart, a hidden stash with all the answers in it. Dirt, even. She would’ve taken dirt. But instead there was nothing. Just the void, that endless dark. “There should have been SOMETHING,” she whispered, eyes tearing up. “But there wasn’t,” her mind hissed back. Instead of crying, she began to laugh; a mad laugh. The darkness didn’t end at the floorboards.