White.
Blank.
All quiet on the front.
An empty shotgun
Aimed squarely at society,
Almost deadly.
Not a blinding sun, but getting there,
Getting somewhere,
Over there, anywhere,
To where I am, or was, or should be.
That’s who I am.
That’s what this is.

It’s burning my retina, burning through,
Burn it through,
Through and through, down and down and
Down, and don’t stop now,
Keep going, falling, racing down,
Through the system, through the veins,
Down to my center of gravity,
Down to earth,
My earth,
To where there’s
Something, I know
There’s something,
I just know
There’s something there,
There has to be,
I just know it,
I just know there’s something there.

But,
But what
If there’s not,
If there’s nothing,
If the something is gone,
Has disappeared
Without my knowing,
Without my consent?

I must not repent.
I must react.
I must do something
To defeat the nothing.
I must chase the something through the streets,
Chase her down and through and through
And down, and knock her down
To the uncaring concrete earth,
And shake her by the shoulders,
And hearken to her hallowed scent,
That of an endangered species,
And ask her:
Why? above all, why?
What reason is there?
What reason do you have
For running from the only one
Who came to your birthday party,
Who gave you candy and flowers
And Hallmark cards,
And mass-produced prayers,
And half-baked answers,
And hollow questions,
While expecting nothing in return
But fame and fortune
And God-given inspiration,
And a human voice,
A very, very human voice,
Articulate and passionate,
To send overseas,
To lay before the world,
To let others know
What I know,
And love what I love,
And see what I see?
What reason is there?
What reason could there possibly be?

Was it something I said,
Or didn’t say?