Knock knock.
Knock knock.
Knock.
You're sitting there.
There's only you,
and your room.
There's nothing else.
There's nothing to destroy,
nothing to build from,
nothing else.
Not even the sound
is there,
but you hear it.
"What is it?" You ask.
But there's no one to answer your question,
because there's only you.
So you choose to answer it yourself.
"It's nothing," You say.
Then you see something
from the cracks under your door,
moving outside.
You can see its shadow
lingering around your room.
"What is it?"
You ask again.
"Who's there?"
You ask again.
But there's still no answer.
And finally,
you rest your thoughts.
"It's nothing."
You say to yourself
"Because there's nothing else in this world."
"There's only me,"
"And my room."
Full stop.
You curl yourself
around your knees.
And you sleep with cramps.
There's nothing in the room.
It is dark, but not pitch black.
Enough to give you hope, the dim light
finds it way through the cracks of the door.
There are no windows,
nothing.
And you are always staring at the door,
waiting.
But what are you waiting for?
You ask yourself.
"Nothing."
You finally answered.
Because there's no one there
to answer your question.
Because you are all alone.
Ever, ever alone.
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