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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Drowning in the Darkness” Down in the Dirt, v174 (the August 2020 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Outside the Box the Down in the Dirt May-Aug. 2020 issues collection book		get the 422 page May-Aug. 2020 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

I Was Nothing

Travis Green

I sat quietly in the chair where
burnt furniture surrounded me:
damaged dressers, smashed lamps,
and fine china, my hands brutally
beaten, scraped, drunken with rage,
bloodshot eyes dazed, fading into chaotic
mazes, depressed stages, growing numb
like slippery ice, blinded, divided,
declining as I stared out the stained
glass window at the grey clouds
reflecting their grief and weight
upon my soul, their harsh rhythms
detrimental to my skin. It was February,
and I could hear the howling winds
beating up against the tall trees,
wrecked, filled with disturbing
images, so dark and frightening,
a bitter explosion beyond the eye
tormenting me as the heavy rain
spattered on top of my house,
almost alarming me like a screaming siren.
I had all these bottled up thoughts stuffed
in my head, everything compressed together,
trying to understand why people could
be so heartless, harboring wild mugshot lyrics,
savagely scribbling jet-black ink across
my surface, lashing, spitting in my face
without remorse, every part of my existence,
empty, dry, suffocating in deep chilly seas.
And as I tried to break free, I could feel
their disconcerting presence slowing
me down, crushing my cells like rusted
grey bricks, sheer filth, smeared, buried
below the bottomless depths. They had
no love for me as a gay man. I was nothing
to them but a failed dream, a floating stream
unseen, a drifting element lost in distant seas.

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