Poem to the Void

This is for you, page,
and you, solemn square of glowing glass.
You are a window pane.
You are a scroll.
You are the moving images that define dreams.

I don't know what you are, but you have become
skin to me,
so I say it again:
this is for you.

No one else will read this.
Our little secret:
hidden in plain sight
accessible yet unnoticed
words
that's all.

I'm sorry, you deserve better
I cannot fill your blank spaces
and I cannot tame the glow
of the screen, cannot
keep the cursor from
blinking
out its sorry shambling dance.

But this moment,
this scrap of the nesting-doll-life
I lead (empty shell within
empty shell)--it's yours.
Do with it what you will.

I dance at the edges
but the void hates me too much
to ever dare
swallow me whole.