Numb.
I feel numb.
It's like feeling nothing, but not quite.
Because you still feel something; you feel numb.
That never-ending pit has always been black, but only now I realise that black isn't a colour - it's a shade. I am past my expiry date, my insides are decayed.
The irony of overdosing on Panadol is that their slogan is, "when pain is gone, life takes its place."
Wrong. When pain was gone, you are gone; or there is an emptiness. Because life doesn't seem to fit. Life is missing it's warmth, life is missing altogether.
If my heart is more than just a muscle, why don't I feel something?
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Insanity
PoesiaThe product of a slam poetry assignment at school concerning an abstract idea that isn't abstract at all, now continued through late night bursts of my dark insides. A work in progress as I become a better writer; feedback appreciated.
