My body feels
So hollow.
I never knew how heavy
Emptiness could be.

They say it is a silent killer
but I have never heard a din so loud as the chemicals consume my brain
the voices in my head screaming for more
coercing my conscience

"just one, wait, that wasn't enough, a little more.. just a little more"

over and over
the cycle repeats
again and again

My heart is racing
my body is numb
I exhale
all the hurt
all the haunting memories
gone

over and over
the cycle repeats
again and again

"just one, wait, that wasn't enough, a little more.. just a little more"

What fresh invention,
Breaking with convention;
To press down with anger,
And drive firm with depression.
Comfort in the arms, of a
Thorny ex. Bathed in attention.
A hopeless obsession- the silenced
Tongue wags,
In this quiet procession.

I wept.
For my love had ceased to exist at that moment.
Before me stood an imposter; a false idol -
With a form identical to the elegance and splendor of Hers,
But whose eyes stared through me with no warmth
Eyes that gave me no hope for a future worth forging,
Eyes that dart through my heart- tearing and shattering
All that is and was.
I no longer weep.
Memories leading up to the moment,
Find themselves everyday in thoughts.
Eviscerating heart and mind again and again
And again and again.
I can not weep.

i've dumped my life
into a trash, i guess
crashed everything
and now i want numbness
speechless, emotionless
just numbness, total silence

When it's time to love you,
You go away,
Are you embarrassed?
Or too ashamed?
I've told my feelings, not to see this day.
If you're worried about upsetting me,
You don't need to sway
I've been broken one too many times,
I've gone numb Anyway.

his hands
are firmly wedged
inside pockets
unwilling to risk
exposure to this
frost-coated morning
if he tripped
or slipped
stumbled
fell
even then
he would not rely
on their numbed support
he could not trust
that they would do
what was necessary
if called upon
deep in the sherpa-lined
abyss of his coat
his fingers remain
protected in gloves
clenched and wriggling
with all hopes resting
on a return
   of warmth
   of bloodflow
   of feeling
before he gets home
before central heating
   and chill-blains
turn his frozen tips
into scalding rods
when there is
no use but
to desperately
and ironically wish
that he could not
feel anything
at all