My Everything

It’s ironic that I had lost…my everything

It’s ironic that I had lost…my everything

That I would trade my everything just for something:

Something that’s pure scraps in light of…my golden everything.

For a consumption, I was whole and yet without it I was none.

Not empty. Still full but with a belly ache that even mom can’t soothe.

I poured out and ate my fill.

My veins dried out and pus remained.

A lifeless being yet alive in the dirt.

Ah but you’re confused. I was too.

For no clarity resides where my everything is not.

It takes a cracking to truly see what my life was soon to be;

A void fullness of empty something.