nothing left to turn into language.

no lexicographer ever compiles a dictionary wherein the words unravel the meaning of life,

no such dictionary exists,

i wonder why.

life is a broken language;

unintelligible to my existence.

taken so much of me

gave so much

now i have nothing

nothing left to make sense of life

the well of fire has run dry.

i have nothing left to turn into language,

for words seem an impossible feat

an inescapable conundrum of fragmentation

my insides are all outsides.

i have nothing left

i am the nothing

transformed into a void.

i can't hear my voice,

i can't speak my voice

i can't talk to my voice

i can't feel my voice

i have no voice.

nothing wants to rip outside of me anymore,

life has subdued it cleverly

it has learned to contain a dead soul within peach flesh.

often times i feel knuckles punching the empty walls;

of my subconscious,

but they have learned to stay quiet now,

an existential subjugation of the fervent, living will.

disoriented from molecular connections,

i have deprived myself of creative exercise

and killed this bloody dream...

the dream of conscientious multiplasticity;

i am unmourning the death of myself;

a gruelling grief.

i am

a forgotten writing system

a language vehemently antagonized,

and graciously patronized...

a cyrillic of strings-flooded and chopped.

an unverbal vault of invisible.

why do i have nothing left to turn into language?

please, tell me why.

i am no i anymore.

i just want to say it is frightening to lose your i and my, who am i without i, nothing but an am, how am i without my? nothing subjective. it pains me, pains me to treat my soul with such tender brutality. stripping myself of my identity.when there existed times you could defeat the beast within you.

"I am a formless, shapeless existence; each atom of life gradually lessens from the complex of my lamented body" - MYM

Until then,

With i and my,

XOXO,

🧚‍♀️ Mary The Lamp