It starts in the back of his eye
The stinging feeling
Giving him the need to screw up his face
In pure agony
It seems to fill up the only place it can
before falling as salty water
Leaving behind a burning sensation
Telling him his sanity is questioned
By what fate has asked
Do you mean to live strong?
Is pain for the weak?
But he knows how to respond
He's been on autopilot for weeks
If I can express happiness
And anger too, he says
Why can't I show them I'm sad?
Don't worry, so can you
YOU ARE READING
Feeling Too Much
PoetrySongs and poetry I write when I'm at risk of feeling numb. I also read books, make origami, play Transformice, or eat. Here's my writing though.
