What I carry inside is a void.
It is nothing.
The vibrancy of creation, the possibility is absent.
There is no sorrow.
There is no joy.
The chasm threatens to absorb me.
The death I carry within is incompatible with my life force.
I am not here, nor there.
I am not present.
I drift between;
inhabiting the veil.
I observe the world dispassionately.
I do not participate.
My body revolts.
It clings to a non-existent hope
while simultaneously rebelling against the death inside.
I have become impossibilitatem.
Being carrying non-being.
I feel sick.
I feel numb.
Two opposed things cannot exist within the same place at the same time.
I sit in limbo while the forces fight each other.
Death has one victory already.
The vessel of death must pour out its contents
or risk being taken as well.
I am death but I cannot be death.
I must deliver it back to the earth.
My unborn child.