Poetry crashes down around me
Like thousands of thundering waterfalls
So amazing and so dangerous
The deadly beauty

I find my way through the dense jungle
Just to find myself lost in a vast endless desert
Yet, here, the emptiness outside of me
Has as near an eternal horizon

A gnarled tree my only companion
I sit under its twisted branches
Becoming more like this distorted thing
Just a thing, a thing

It’s so much easier to be a thing
Feel nothing, and only be
No capability to be anything other than what
You truly are

In the fast-moving city, full of tall buildings
And people who move as fast, and to me
Are just as tall, three inches tall that I am
It’s just not as easy to be empty

Yet, here, I find another kind of beauty
A life, an attempt at being what I want to be
Not the twisted, knotted, lifeless thing in the desert
But real, painful, and feeling