nothing.

tossing and turning
millions of colors
jaded by the still of the storm

a place of cleanliness
a place of filth
a place where many fear to tread

the flickering sky
brings you insanity
the frigid air
renders you numb

frost on the ground
the earth spinning
driving you into a new world
a world of no peace
of no revenge
of no remorse

the spinning makes you ill
the thrill that never was
wallows in the shadows
on a cold bench you sit
waiting for what?

waiting for the storm
to blank this misery
and to return to
the happiness that used to exist

"three minutes", they cry out
the time is an eternity
the tossing and turning
has taken over

but for what?
now in your dreams
you see spirals of vivid colors
spinning as if afraid to stop

the storm turned the colors
into a tornado
a mess of shit
lying in a heap on the floor

a cataclismic boom
and all came to rest
and then there was silence
emptiness

no people
no color
no will to exist
nothing.

- Dan MacMartin (01-20-99)

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