A spot on the car seat carries all the weight of holding on to nothing.
I sit pressed
Upon it now listening
To the pelting rain
Rain like rain
Never meant to fall,
Watching the heaviness grow in my cornering skull as
Nietzsche rattles amongst my mind:
Or perhaps this is Kant
Or perhaps this swallowing thinking has arisen without influence of anything but the trappings of my own mind caught
Between a period of time not
Driven by expectation.
I could let the thoughts grow the weight lay heavy sitting in the driveway of my empty home,
And await the next obligation,
The next occasion in which anyone expects to see me alive,
Living in color and flesh and good fortune.
But in this intermitted period of waiting hanging
Onto nothing but my own
Decision of how
Time should be spent
Life should be dealt,
I exist nowhere but in my own conscious and in my knowledge
Of being alive.
I watch time tick in the waving windshield wipers,
Revealing in waves against the rain
A vision of the world before me:
Turning in the wind,
Colorless and without hold to the arms that birthed them
Turning at the end
Of this low, dishonest decade.
Another wave of wiping arms:
Scuttling between overhead drops of acid,
Licking up the burning sensation of knowing this to be its fate.
Or perhaps that was a chipmunk,
Or a rat,
Or any body holding fur that thought it could make it through something like this
And this is all there is:
Fragmented views in sporadic rain of defeatist leaves and nihilistic rodents, holding on in this final hour until perhaps the pouring balks in the face of a new day–
And then me.
Denying my existence
Can materialize outside
Of external sightings,
Letting the hour
As I drink up this gaze of old world dying before me.
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Hello! I am a poet and essayist who sometimes likes to share her work with the world! I am currently an English major at the University of Iowa and I write as often as I can when not spiraling into the black voids of the internet.