Mountains of Emptiness

The destruction of the soul leaves rubble behind,
forming mountains of emptiness that cloud my mind.
In the shadows they cast, questions take root,
growing like thorns from an unspoken truth.

What is left of me, in this barren space?
A hollow echo, a nameless face.
Existence feels fragile, teetering on the brink,
each thought a ripple in the void where I sink.

Questions arise from the depths of despair,
pulling me deeper, gasping for air.
For every doubt that claws at my chest,
a new query forms, refusing to rest.

How did this all begin? Where did it start?
Was there ever a spark, a beating heart?
Or am I just fragments, scattered and lost,
drifting through life, paying a nameless cost?

The mountains of emptiness grow ever high,
piercing the heavens, blotting the sky.
In their shadows, I search, but what do I seek—
a reason to exist, a voice to speak?

Questions breed interest, and interest breeds pain,
a cycle of thought that drives me insane.
For every answer is just a new door
to more uncertainties than ever before.

The destruction of self is both curse and gift,
a journey through darkness where shadows shift.
For perhaps in these ruins, I will find
a glimpse of truth, a peace of mind.

But for now, I wander through these peaks,
where the soul is torn and the spirit leaks.
Lost in the mountains of emptiness vast,
searching for answers that slip through my grasp.