What I Manufacture

What I manufacture

Is my lacuna,

That finds a home

In the pain

I own from myself.

Securing a place so secure,

I lose myself

In the words that

Speak less—

In the volume

Of opinions the world

Throws with pride.

I search for myself

In the silence of the sound

That breathes between chaos.

I allot loneliness to the road,

I order the vacuum to fill in,

And

I transport nothingness into fulfillment.