numb—(adj.): deprived of the power of sensation

i did not know what it meant to be truly numb until i begged an unseen god to give me back my muse. some way to rid my tired brain of this toxicity, to pop the ******* cork and let my emotions well over and release like champagne. in a forgotten time, words flowed out of me, slowly easing my mind of the noxious feelings eroding at it as pen was put to paper.

no longer can my emotions boil over into words; rather, they are pushed deeper and deeper into my being, slowly rotting me from the inside out. a lost sense of rhythm. a lost sense of touch in a dark room, no guides, no way to let out what i am feeling inside.

a false smile can hold a thousand words; a single teardrop, a million. i wish i had that ******* luxury. a look in the mirror at my tired and battered self, a deep cut of pain, but no blood flow. i absorb the pain into myself, still praying my muse will one day find me. destroy the dam built in my brain housing my lost sense of empathy, my deep pain. and as i write this short piece of prose on my inability to feel, hoping for a release of some sort,

i wait.

and i've never felt quite so empty in my life

paycheck to paycheck, bottle to bottle,
i've found a home on the floor of a
stranger's home at four in the morning,
half-drunk, numbed to the pain of the
outside world.

i woke up this morning with an ache
in my jaw, a pit in my stomach,
a craving for loss of brain cells,
as if alcohol could truly **** the pain,
or me.

i've tried to **** the monsters in me
with drugs and drinks,
on more than one occasion,
and if sober is our default,
why is it so **** difficult?

have you forgotten what you promised me?
another moment of solitude, another second of silence
in this tired, old brain of mine,
barely eighteen, yet aged beyond my years,
i have grown up too quickly.

finding happiness in others soon proves difficult when
a bottle is a much closer friend than any other,
wading through my emotions like a smoky room,
pretending to be alright, just for tonight,
when i'm drunk and calling you at 3:30 am,
asking you why you left me alone,
when you promised that you'd
never leave when i needed you
the most.

I smoked cigarettes to forget my pain,
Or ease it until I wasn't alone
At least in terms of physical space,
Throwing myself into people to forget
the person I didn't want to be
But felt myself becoming.

I wish I could go back to the summer nights,
Alcohol-tainted breath, the high goes away,
And you're left with nothing but blurry memories.

There is never a high, a rush good enough to
Erase reality,
Always waiting for the comedown,
Remembering the pain numbed by
Drug-induced self confidence and
False happiness

Searching for a place far enough from
This filthy world
Far enough away to numb me for good,
Wishing I had an escape route just a little
More permanent.

Words don't spill out of me anymore,
Tears don't either.
I can't force myself to put my feelings into
stanzas, well rhymed, correct syllable counts,
My words fall like *****,
Never appetizing enough to be beautiful

But I still find myself reaching for a bottle
When times get hard

loss of control can be beautiful
when you're problems are gone
in a cloud of smoke-
or when the burn in your throat
matches the fire in your eyes
as you watch it all fall apart
in beautiful intoxication:
"I'm just having fun,"
the words fall cooly from a
well trained mouth,
grown accustomed to
hiding, justifying,
afraid to admit that maybe,
just maybe,
you are in too deep.