The Poetry Marathon

What’s at the center of a black hole?

They say darkness, nothingness,

A crushing weight that nothing survives.

Others the absence of light, and nothing

More, just a void to float and see yourself

As infinitesimal as you really are.

But whether you are crushed or

Insignificant, I wish I could go

And live there rather than where I am

At 28.

Solitary hours, a darkness so silent

Except the hum of the light

And the thoughts of regret that play

Over and over like a skipping record.

Broken wires, torn pages, squeaks

And creaks, a fake oasis,

No rest or solace for the souls

Seeking a place to be useful, to

Find purpose, only another outpost

Another node on the short string of life.