This one’s sorta sad, process kinda stuff about feelings of being alone, even though I’m surrounded by a lot of cool and kind people.
by Anthony Jutz
The signal’s gone dry;
One by one the messages stop.
The lines themselves, gone flat.
My datastreams narrow to one.
The sole choice is mine now,
Progression of my own volition.
Slower and smaller the world becomes,
While I find myself larger and larger.
With me I carry remnants and memories,
This perpetual decay toward nothingness.
But I am not alone within myself,
Their voices recalled upon my need.
A hurricane of static unleashes its fury,
Static noise as hellscapes thousand.
I stand final,
Observing til the finite concludes.
The story does not and will not end with mine,
For there is much more to be told.
The plants speak their own poetry,
As the world itself grows old.
The stars themselves implode,
Their candle wicks becoming naught.
But even the emptiness itself,
Has stories told without thought.