It’s that of losing sensory touch,
my every emotional synthetic lost beneath this skin.
Plastic or that of parchment flesh,
feelings no longer flow and flex beneath,
the electrical current died mid dance,
all is hollow,
no outer force relieves my eternal,
this faceless numbness,
the only emotion that leaves a sting,
cinges my cadaver nerves
is the flame of frustration,
the itch of anger and irritation.
I find it much more playful
than the spineless dolls of dorment feeling,
it’s the only one that gives me a response,
the latter are that of loosely tangible
lost to that of my feelingless far spaces
of the brain for later use and development,
for now all is lukewarm,
so muffled in psychopathic,
isolation carves the human out of me,
leaves nacked nerves sensitive only to that of the burn,
i’m best left dead when alone,
i’m more than half way there.