The void

I can’t escape you. You are the shadow to my light. The deafening silence that follows the crescendo.

Everyone leaves me. Not romantically. Just death. The real void. Watts’ undulation of consciousness. One presumes that life receives its meaning from its finite qualities. But why must death, then, be infinite? Couldn’t I obtain the same meaning from just a bit of death? Why must it fill my horizon.

You met me at a very strange moment in my life. Losing my mind. Hold my hand as we watch my civilization crumble. Collapse on the floor with me in the heap of our intertwined sex. It won’t matter after the orgasm. It never does. It can’t bring infinity we seek. Nor the glimpse of insight to the Brahman. It’s all a mirage. Or the truth of it. How can we know?

Leave me. Let me feel the blackness. Until I walk into the light. I will listen intently to the silence. For screams from another time and generation. For the hands beckoning me from graves to tell their stories. But truth is, I’m tired boss. I want to sleep.