I stopped feeling love, stopped wanting to be loved, stopped loving.

I thought I would be happier on my own.
I push everyone away.

The blues kick, sensation
drips down the nape of my neck. I shiver;
Frisson.  I crave the
feeling, the comfort of an all-too-familiar pain in the midst of my numbing depression that soothes this psychiatric ache; and substance that let us fake it
so much better, helped us feel
again, made it all seem better.