Vacancy

I have a vacancy here
the neon sign must say,
inviting arachnids,
dead skin cells and dust mites--
those fucking parasites
moving in the moment
a place is left behind--
to take up residence.

Walking through a black and white reality--
not quite a dream, but an approximation
of the real--
I find that I avoid mirrors
and people.
Preferring rather, to keep my exterior
matching the empty inside that doesn't seem to feel
anymore.

I am an effervescent essence,
no purpose or reason...
just an undulation in the cosmos'
flux and reflux...
a mindless existence
and futile resistance
to try to maintain
subsistence
in this crux.

I have a vacancy here
the neon sign must be screaming,
because people keep trying to move in,
trying to see more than what is here.
But I keep avoiding those mirrors
and turning the corner when I sense reality around the next bend
because this fading tapestry of my being
is losing thread...and its warping the nails it hangs upon...
because its a lifeless weight, heavy as lead.


And all that keeps resounding in this
echoing, antechamber of a mind:
...............................