I crave the blinding white,
The sheer intensity of it;
Burning your corneas,
low, moaning hum that passes through your spinal cord
And turning your fingerprints and everything they’ve ever touched
Caressed or fondled to powdery, meaningless ash.
I relish in the white hot pain.
Or perhaps what I desire most is the murky black
The foggy forgetfulness of it;
Temporarily suspended in time.
Here you don’t just float for a moment,
Traipsing in and out of fleeting truth and
Where I go
You no longer exist.
Eleanor Colligan is a junior currently living in Chicago, Illinois. She loves to read and write poetry.