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I

A moment's pass I will be gone

Yet it refuses to burn away

The only possible observer, I rest in the chasm.

but not by a touch of effort does the pattern tear away from my skin. The skin through which I see nebulizing promise:

Become nothing.

Where will I rest when there is no longer an "I" to see?

What must I be once I am not?

My, the clouds move through my fingers

My, Water of the lakes,

My, the rivers of blood carve canyons across the ground,

the little remaining breaking from the chains of gravity to return to sky.

It reviles my flesh

My corpse will rot away as the hungry feed on its remnants.

II

It cries out to me as I clasp at my stomach

My dry throat,

My tongue stuck upon the roof of my mouth with every syllable I form atop my lips

The sting, dense and bright

Trying to force back what must inevitably come

The walls never move

The floor never loosens its grasp on my rotten body

I am victim and malefactor of my own will

Which will I be written as?

III

In the distance I can see it

Not far

Not close

Not anywhere

It sits atop the horizon like a coward, like an angel

The sands rot away my feet as the wear tears through the leather

I can feel the cold of the emptiness seep my remaining body heat

Nothing becomes all

Nothing becomes all

Nothing becomes all

IV

The passing of the I.

The moment goes now,

An instant I refused to return to

What time was I given to be here now

Does it matter which time I spend?

Where will I rest when there is no longer an I to see?

The end comes, or it has always been.

Those which I remember: as the drought took and the hungry fed,

As the dust settled and the shadow made way with the light,

it all came back to what it was meant to be.

An ending, not lost to one without purpose.

The purpose lost to me, forged from the components of the hidden.

A moment passes and I am gone

V

Born into nothing

Made into nothing

Begging for nothing

Return to nothing