From the farthest reaching
of my mind's eye,
I sense the coming of It.
Like some malevolent storm
It gathers its strength.
gray clouds turning darkest black
in their ferociousness.

I see the coming of It
and can almost feel
the distant winds against my face,
sent ahead like scouts
to find the prey being hunted.

The air, angry at its disturbance,
whirls in tightening circles,
and a cyclone appears,
sucking all in its path
through its horrible throat,
only to retch everything up
into some other dimensional
lost and found.
Irretrievable
even if you wanted it back,
which likely you would not.

Though It is still far away
from the center of me,
I can feel the impending catastrophe
as It tugs at the edges of my emotions,
and I am suddenly full
with the terrifying knowledge,
that it is for them, for which It comes.

This epiphany sweeps the ether from the scene
and It comes more swiftly.
Faster and still faster It comes.
Its glorified blackness fills the sky,
as a great noise fills up my ears,
like static from an old TV late at night.

I squeeze my watering eyes shut
as tightly as my waning strength allows
and brace myself
for the coming of the Nothingness,
but when this black and vapid beast comes
it is a sick, pathetic entrance.

The Nothingness comes not as a tumultuous storm
or with the erratic anger of some tornado,
but it is instead a useless, miserable, drizzle
of tepid rain on a hot humid day.
A rain that makes it hard to breathe
from the weight of it,
The kind of rain that clings grotesquely to the air,
causing streets to emit a foul stench
that lingers long after.
Not like the rains of my childhood memories,
those that made the air smell like the sky
just sucked a breath mint.

My emotions are not wrenched violently from me
as I had anticipated,
meeting an even more distasteful demise,
as the Nothingness merely waits,
while my humanity leaks steadily from within me.

It puddles and pools with the putrid, rain
and sickly breeze that is the coming,
arrival and existence
of the Nothingness inside of me.