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.

Nothing.

The chasm threatens to absorb me.

The death I carry within is incompatible with my life force.

Slowly draining.

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.