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Things
Things.
Nothing, it was Nothing.
Until Something it became.
He twisted blind and formed a bind,
That tugged and drained her veins.
At first denied this Something.
Nothing, nothing, not to her.
Until he changed her Nothing,
And her words began to slur.
The girl she liked her Nothing,
It was Nothing of her own,
It kept her safe, much needed space,
Not lonely, just alone.
He came and he was nothing,
Not allowed inside her space,
He'd made it clear that Nothing here,
Was a Something he would chase.
So she agreed upon this nothing,
He'd keep his and she'd keep hers,
But then the man got greedy,
Craved two Nothings to coerce.
In the taking of her Nothing,
It happened something new was born.
He stepped inside that empty space,
And kept it nice and warm.
He gently lit her Nothing,
Burned so softly, out of sight.
Soon her Nothing knew nothing,
Of a life without this light.
Once she felt it shining,
She reached for his Nothing too,
Her Nothing was now Something,
She dreamed he'd grow a Something to.
But his Nothing was all locked away,
So she gathered every key,
And tried the padlock, one by one,
And hoped that one would let her see.
She knocked and begged and clawed the door,
She prayed on knees, down bended,
She cried until her Something hurt,
Until lastly she surrendered.
The man who forced her Something,
Reached down and took her Something tight,
He grabbed it by the throat and choked,
And strangled out the light.
And so he took her Something,
And he took her Nothing too,
So now he had her Everything,
His own Nothing, good as new.
She had never reached his Nothing,
So never Something his became.
He departed with her Everything,
And left her searching for her name.
21/10/14
Hannah Amy
