I tell myself that I'm numb.But why would I tell myself that. Unless I actually feel everything. As a wall.

I don't.

I do not feel anything. I am not numb. I'm just caught. Between a state. Of here, but not home.

The sounds around me file into a vertex. Then to a point. Then to a haze. Then it swallows me.

Then rejects me. Like a invasive intruder.
It goes back to a point.
Then I'm back.
Eyes no longer stale.
Back in my body.

I am lost. I feel myself.
Fragment by fragment, I leave. I go.
Rhizo.
Roots.
They are in me.
I fear water. For they feed on it.
Its inevitable to avoid, For I will die in thirst.

Outsiders can come at me any moment of the day. With looks and actions. In a instant, my day is effected by these people. I now have changed my life to suit them. They have power over me. I'm never good enough or I'm never doing it right. So I walk on the other side. I keep my head down. I don't speak. I don't eat. This is their world. They never stop. They never end. you learn to deal.

Sometimes I ponder death.
Not just my own  ,but my loved ones.
I analyze the avalanche that follows absence.

I have lost things I have loved.
But at least their chests still lift as they sleep.

Even then, that loss puts me on the verge.
What will send me over is the official leave.

The leave that I fear most.

The leave that will damage me so bad, I will become the thing that gives us life. Lungs. I will be a lung. Just a lung. I will shakily intake oxygen and exhale a stale breath.

With every exhale I will fade a little more each time.

When my lungs fail me....I don't know.
In my life my loved ones are where my entire being is.

If I leave , my thoughts will be on them.
I don't want them to be consumed by a *****.
I don't want to be faded and I don't want them to  become the definition of oblivion.

Your fingers don't look like fingers anymore. In their place I see something  lethal, with a trigger attached to it. You pull it. The roots of my inner most being implode. As that caves in so does my ratiocination. Everything is succumb to the sound of the shot. But my body. It's paralyzed. Numb to anything real but the trickle of tears that run down my face. I fall into cardiac tamponade. Asphyxiated in my very own skin, where your shrapnel likes to call home.