Filling the void felt a lot like empty space,
like a black hole that I had been confused by as a child,
and suddenly bored by as an adult
There was a disenchantment from the get go here,
from the turn of the century,
or perhaps a year after
We had a honeymoon,
as everyone does,
but honeymoons ended on Tuesdays
And thus began the hollowing of our stomachs,
of our collective conscience,
whatever that was
I dreamt of four walls and then octagons and then too many walls to count,
and they were all white,
but if I stared too long,
they became kaleidoscopic,
and unforgiving of my aging ways
We sat on the stairs,
me on one step,
and everyone else on the other step,
but there were coffee stains in the carpet,
embedded there,
same as the scars in here,
in and around the great divide,
etched among us for better or worse
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