Breathless with anticipation,
finally I see the light —
–no that’s merely brain cells
dying.
Hypoxia.
Nothing lives and breathes
behind the glow that comes
at the end of the tunnel.
Nothing is there.
Nothing is waiting.
The illusion of our own spectacular joy
was precisely that —
only an illusion.
If there was a God,
He no longer wants us;
we’re the puppy
Mom would have to take care of,
if She existed,
because He’s lost interest.
Everything is red
and cold.
Dissonance.
Don’t worry;
I’ve always been all talk.
The silence
will be refreshing.
