Holding onto nothing,
Floating through thick air,
A vision of people; a tuft of lazy hair.
The wild roses rise above my knees,
I run faster still as they cling to my feet.
I have a perspective; it’s blind and so am I.
My hand moves a certain way as my eyelids stay at rest;
‘Art’ they call it, ‘art’ they say.
A series of words strung together,
You seek meaning but I seek all but nothing.
‘There is no meaning’ I wish to shout,
‘There never was nor will there ever be.’