Man in a Vacuum

I am man—in a vacuum,
Sitting on the edge of everything, of life,
Ever looking out, watching,
Jealous of the somethingness within.

I think we underestimate the gravity of nothing,
The comfort in oblivion,
The tendency for a vacuum
To want to fill.

And sometimes it does fill;
We pull some sorry sucker into our voids, Into our lives.
And they stay for a while, always smiling.
Then they leave, never bitterly,
Getting over the novelty of it,
Realizing that they cannot breathe.
For there is no air in a vacuum.

The void has a hold on us,
A death-grip, so to speak.
It pulls us back whenever we leave it,
As if somehow it felt lonely.
But we must leave it,
For there is no air in a vacuum.

The lack of atmosphere
Does provide clarity though.
And there is something to be said for that clarity.
For you cannot fully appreciate life's beauty
If you are drowning in it,
Perpetually struggling to stay afloat.

But I do think it is our responsibility
To drown in it.
To live life unbridled,
Without moderation.
Anything to escape the vacuum without.