The White Night

As I sit under this white night,

I hang onto emptiness.

Bushes and plants

forget their lives.

Empty chairs

lose their souls.

Humans snore

on tireless beds,

inside a meaningless dark.

I hold my breath,

fingers trembling,

listening for shapeless voices

roaring inside my head.

There was a time

I held my soul in cigarettes

just to stay alive,

to stay warm.

Now the cigarettes

sleep quietly

in my pocket.

I look at my mother.

She breathes

inside a blanket

that keeps itching her—

no reason to me,

a reason to her.

Emptiness.

The void.

The white night.

A world

listening

to my silence

inside its heart.