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Collin Daniel Feb 2017
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.
don't worry about me; i'm doing alright.
Sep 2016 · 367
10w
Collin Daniel Sep 2016
10w
and i've never felt quite so empty in my life
Dec 2015 · 636
killing the monsters
Collin Daniel Dec 2015
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?
times are hard.
Dec 2015 · 574
seconds of solitude
Collin Daniel Dec 2015
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.
Nov 2015 · 579
Untitled
Collin Daniel Nov 2015
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
I guess you could say I'm in kind of a slump.
Aug 2015 · 391
control
Collin Daniel Aug 2015
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.
I don't really know who I am anymore
Apr 2015 · 551
lies
Collin Daniel Apr 2015
you are familiar.
i know the feel of your hands, the taste of your tongue,
the parts of you that deserve the most attention.
i know you.

we used to smoke cigarettes in my car,
windows down,
music loud,
laughing out the window,
we were alive.
getting high in the sunlight,
warmth surrounding us,
summer days turn to summer nights,
warm,
electric,
real.

but our blood no longer runs crimson.
rather, we are cold and blue,
false bodies, false promises,
fraudulent smoke from a fraudulent pipe.
our teeth are still white,
but our smiles are unfamiliar.

"how are you?"
i ask.
lighting a cigarette, you look at me and reply,
*"fine."
Mar 2015 · 775
secrets
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
breathe in deep,
{deep breaths will help you cope}
chew gum,
a diet coke and a cigarette in the afternoon,
the carbonation burns your throat
{thank god}
another cigarette after work,
another cup of coffee on the road
{black, with two sugars}
park the car,
go inside,
do laundry,
do the dishes,
do something
{distraction is key}

look in the mirror,
tousle your hair,
you look
{normal?}
there are no external warning signs,
{not that you've exhibited, at least}
this deception you're living every day,
has become the norm for you
{who am i?}

{but he doesn't look like an alcoholic}

silent pain,
no one can hear your cries for help.
{are you, perhaps, too prideful to look like an alcoholic?}
you still wake up for work,
eat breakfast,
go to church,
but your faith is no longer in God,
the blood of your God represented in a chalice of wine,
passed through the hands of the faithful followers,
{moderation is key, isn't that what they told you?}
pass the cup back to the holy man before he sees
the look in your eyes,
begging for more,
{one more drink}
{please}

it only matters if you show the warning signs,
as if this addiction
{dare i say, disease?}
could fit into a pamphlet,
neatly folded,
creased edges,
glossy photographs,
all smiles,
1-800 number in the big font
{this is your life, and it fits on a single sheet of paper}

{no one can help you but yourself, and you're not doing so well}
idk.
Mar 2015 · 940
Contrast
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
I sat up all night
and thought about you,
darling,
and your lips
and hands
and the curve of your hips
and the way you pronounce things
and all the simple
tiny
idiosyncrasies
that embody you
and how I'll never again be able
to see those lips
and hands
and hips
without thinking of
the bitter contrast between
summer's warmth
and
winter's harsh bite.
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
what is a human
but the chemicals
that make him up
or the thoughts
in his brain or the tiny
little wrinkles
on his palms or even
the warm, red blood
cells that persistently
pump through his
body even though
he wants them
to run
cold.

what is a human
but the anxiety
and worries that
define his every
waking moment
and encapsulate him
in a fear-driven
rage and throw him
into a pit of sadness
and anger until
his humanity is
gone.

what is a human
but the tears
streaming down
his face when he
lays his head on
his pillow at night
and wishes that
he wouldn't have
to lift it up in the
morning and that
instead of a bed, he
would wake up in a
coffin.
Mar 2015 · 1.3k
beauty
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
i built myself a home in your chest
a safe haven, a tightly wrapped package
and you evicted me

i looked at you through my camera lens and saw all the beauty
my eyes had failed to pick up on
the fabric of your soul
the smooth skin of your hands,
twirling your hair in your fingers,
you are beautiful

you are literature
words on a page, kept consistent through years of handwritten notes
passed back and forth between quiet children,
i highlighted my favorite parts of you, and underlined the parts that stood out to me
a well-read novel, dog-eared and leafed through,
i memorized your body,
smiling warmly when you put my emotions into words
i don’t read anymore.

we shared cigarettes together in my car,
letting all the words we were too afraid to speak
leave our mouths in the form of smoke,
leaving only the stale smell of burnt tobacco,
to remember you by
Mar 2015 · 322
Exposure
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
I wish that I could show my feelings
through more than just
shallow,
pointless
lies
and the false statements that my mouth proclaims
that don’t matter.

The story my eyes are screaming,
breaking through the walls of an unsharpened pencil
into the words on cheap paper,
and baring myself to the world
through the songs my heart sings
when my fingers brush across the skin
of another,
more intricate
individual.

And the exhalation of smoke from my tired lungs
explains much more than my mind
could ever force
my mouth to
spill.
Mar 2015 · 345
Untitled
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
weight on my chest,
you were the breath i was afraid to take in the dark
the smoke in my lungs
          and in my heart
you are a slow death.
a calm trickle of rain on my window,
a hesitant grasp on the reality of a situation,
a “maybe tomorrow”

you are exhalation,
my widening eyelids,
your sudden finality

you are an exploration,
the bottom of the ocean,
the bottom of a bottle
my only fear,
my only solitude

you are the ringing in my ears,
the silence i no longer rely on

— The End —