Mia Arias
People talk to fill in the silent space . People do something to fill in still space . I gotta move , I gotta sing . I gotta draw , I gotta watch . To fill in the hole , I stuff things ; Watches , money , riches , shiny little possessions .
The space is eternal . It ’ s black and formless . It sinks and sucks . It steals and consumes . Hungry . Hungry , hungry . For more , for action , for movement , for stimulation . For life , for love .
Some is too little and too much is just not enough . I gotta gather , I gotta keep . I gotta need , I gotta want . What lets me breathe , lets me settle into comfort . My nest , my home . Home is where the heart is . Home is chained to me .
Chained . It ’ s dark . The heart is pumping , but it ' s connected to what ? The space keeps eating , but its stomach is full of what ? My home is not my chest . Watches , money , riches , shiny little possessions aren ’ t food . I am not full . I am not full . I need more for life and love .