my words, they halt like rusted hinges
they feel down and heavy,
translation of my inner whirlpool of feelings
thoughts and ideas, interests and loves
held on mute, so all I receive
is static noise or echoes of a ghost self,
the inner chord which rings with every step
which put a bounce in my cheeks
and a shine to my hair,
where has gone its magnificent self?
it's tugged, dragged down, deeper and deeper
into the chasm of cracks
which pried itself open with
the hauntings of loneliness,
so that the warmth and admiration
pooled in my stomach recoils and gets ****** in
to what feels like a icy numbness creeping
like a parasite without hesitation
a pit writhing with black snakes
and I'm left plucking at air, at a nothing
to which I am no longer aware,
and when will this aching strife
cease to be, when will this pain halt
its seize, when the loneliness shrinks
back to its corner of the world
and I left to smile and breathe?