nothing but empty

I can only feel the emptiness inside of me..
I can only taste the sour, better taste of imperfection..
How can anything be compared to a feeling so strong that everything else in it’s companion fades away..
A feeling so deep, that every other sense of grief is not such a worthy to it’s penetration in it’s presence.
It’s both deep and shallow..
Both fatal and weak..
Both secure and insecure..
It’s just simple as a like and unlike at the same time..
It’s just plain madness..
Fullfilled in agony..
To think that you’re the meaning of perfection..
While you die from within from the emptiness that you had droven your self into..
Just nothing but PLAIN EmpTY..