Hello, Hallowed Hollowness

I feel empty, but I think it's important to be. A filled pitcher can hold no more nourishment. My mind is a storm. My heart is blank. My soul absent. What am I? Human, a man, child or fool? I can feel my thoughts spreading within me. Things that were of supreme importance to me are now but faded dreams to partial memories of past hopes. I like drink. I like to drink. I like too much drink. I like to drink too much. Always a shot away from sober. Reality feels like so many cold hands nowadays. It grips me and it's stark. Frozen. Things don't move the same way anymore. It's as though all has become static. A lifeless life. My fire is dwindling. Ashes inevitable. Yet I should be wise and skillful. A philosopher and artist. Feel more a scoundrel and jester. I know what comes in time. I seek it sometimes. I want it to happen. To know at last that all was for nothing or that something else awaits but what? More emptiness, a void--space to fill. A place to be. Simple existence forever. Until another consciousness? I thought so much in one life, I hope to come back some sort of dullard. A fish perhaps, or a snail. Something small and completely insignificant, unmemorable and amissible. There's too much bullshit too think about for now, fuck it.