Sometimes, a willful ignorance is the best cure for despair.

There is a hole,
filled with meloncholy
and eddies of regret--
It is very small.
I keep telling myself this,

I will not give it scale and 
fed the gnawing nothingness, 
a dark star in my soul,
distorting perspective,
bending light and reason.

The universe within me
is skewed in ways
I cannot know,
in depths
I will not measure.

I wait for someone, 
to step into the void, 
The fires of joy
may yet be kindled,
shredding the haunting
desolation with
love's fierce dawn,

Until then, 
I refuse to know
the perimeters of darkness.
I leave this dead place,
gathering a modest momentum 
which is better than none at all.