It's happening again:

I don't feel a bit of anything, I feel nothing.
I'm numb and I'm empty and I'm a hand that's fallen asleep, tingling only as a reminder that I can't feel a **** thing.

I hate this feeling.
It scares me.
I don't feel love for the one that won my heart. I don't feel guilt or pity or happiness or curiousity.
I fear that I will spend the rest of my life in the black-and-white fuzz on a tv screen.
I fear that I will die unfulfilled, feeling nothing and saying nothing.
I stare into the empty mug and I am an iced injury, cold and stiff and callous.

I hate this and I keep hating it and fearing it and suddenly the fog lifts, the hum of radio static dies and I can wiggle my fingers once again and--

I am left with anger.
I am left with sorrow.
I am left with an aching dullness in my lungs.

I am left with the unshakeable desire to drink until I am full, until my heart bursts with songs of lost emotion.

It's cold in my chamber of fear and hatred, but my stomach is warm with another, another, another...