when it hits, there are no words.
the drive, the glow, the kind air
disappeared from my heart a long time ago,
it seems, and this is nothing but the last part of the breakdown,
not so much as an aftershock
than the very aftermath.
i cannot break down if i am long gone;
i cannot speak if i am empty—
and i am just empty,
a quietly sitting void, a patch of vapor.
the words do not come to me, and here i sit,
artless.
i think,
*this is where the anger should be,
burning somewhere in the back of my mouth,*
or, *this is where the sadness should come,
turning my eyes to water,*
but it doesn’t. it doesn’t.
and so there i sit, then,
empty.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 6:33 AM UTC
when it hits, there are no words.
the drive, the glow, the kind air
disappeared from my heart a long time ago,
it seems, and this is nothing but the last part of the breakdown,
not so much as an aftershock
than the very aftermath.
i cannot break down if i am long gone;
i cannot speak if i am empty—
and i am just empty,
a quietly sitting void, a patch of vapor.
the words do not come to me, and here i sit,
artless.
i think,
*this is where the anger should be,
burning somewhere in the back of my mouth,*
or, *this is where the sadness should come,
turning my eyes to water,*
but it doesn’t. it doesn’t.
and so there i sit, then,
empty.
