Oizys

I had never felt so utterly empty,

And what a pity emptiness and numbness were not twins,

For still there rose in me that rancid overture,

Birthing a chorus of inadequacy that filled my hollow being.

Chanting in earnest of desire and its price,

Giving rise to a howling aria in praise of failure.

The wolves of worthlessness and fury dwelling therein,

Lusting for that sanguine objective their fangs might accomplish,

The coda of their mutually torn throats yielding no satiety,

As they retreat from their own pooling futility.

But war is their nature, and war would they wage again,

When the heart falters and tears flee captivity,

The gnashing of teeth shall be apotheosis.