The void that tastes like me (Marcella Boccia)
There is a silence in meso vast,it consumes the stars—a gaping mouth,hungry for what cannot be found.It tastes like dust,like the ash of a dreamforgotten in the heat of waking.I reach into it,fingers trembling,but the void has no form,no edges to grasp.It is a weightless thing,like a shadow without a body,like a breath that never leavesbut refuses to enter.I am the emptiness I crave,a hollow echo of a wordI cannot say,a silence so thickit coats my tongue.I am the space between breaths,where even time forgets to pass.The void tastes like me—not the skin or the bone,but the places in between,where the light cannot reach,where my name dissolves into the air,and all that remainsis a hungerthat knows no end.I am both the voice and the absence,the beginning and the end,a wound that has never healedbut learns to sing in its silence.And in this void,I exist—not as a body,but as the tasteof something missing,something that never was,but always will be.
