We as Humans

Touch.

Toes lay inches above
wastelands
lacking a feeling of solid ground.
Lacking a feeling of
here.
Eyes drift
fogged over with mindlessness.
Cold fronts hit heated passion
spinning out of control
unaware of the pull
of weight never felt.
Fear has substance.
without it
self preservation
becomes habit
instead of will.
Why try
after loosing track
of the self
so meant to be preserved?
Glazed eyes
ignore cotton filled ears.
Cuts and scrapes
mere nuisances
to a ghastly complexion.
The sting fascinating
but alarm won't kick in.
Puzzle pieces disconnect
so even with all the pieces
the picture looses clarity.
Expanses of empty
lay waste
to the remaining will
to clean up the repressed chaos
instead of fall into
oblivion.
Liquid nitrogen
is much less dangerous
than fire
or so it seems.
It seeps
numbs
and freezes.
Victims are solid
cold
brittle
and likely to shatter.
Destroyed
but not feeling the pain yet.
Only the heat of emotion
can thaw the numb
but the unwillingness of pain
overrides
the need to feel something.
Anything.
In the meantime drift.
Observe.
Reach out.
But
never
quite
touch.

About disassociation. I don't really like it as much as I would have hoped, but I have a soft spot and I'm not willing to delete it. So here it is.