In Principio

Numb

You ask me how I feel,

and I'll tell you I'm a bit under the weather.

You ask me why that is,

and I simply reply it's okay, I'm fine, really.

But I'm not.

And I really don't feel good,

and I don't mean in the physical sense.

I don't mean the healing scars and cuts, or

the sutures that fail to close the deep

lacerations left from all the falling

I do,

or all the glass shards

I feel,

constantly, repeatedly,

pricking my supple skin until its

raw and red.

And I really don't feel good,

inside.

Inside where unspeakable things lie,

in the deep recesses where monsters lay dormant

and the fires slumber, until they, too, become rekindled.

Inside

where hell is a paradise,

purgatory is a heaven, and

tartarus is elysium.

Because inside,

all I feel is

n u m b.