Feeling nothing is such an odd sensation,
you don't smack into walls,
you glide through them,
heartbreak and loss just pass overhead,
you can't care about a thing in the world,
yourself less than anything,
your heart a withering black rose,
unable to be nursed back to health,
but it's all your fault, you chose it.

The days drift by and all you can do,
is watch hopelessly from your grave,
which, you dug yourself, of course,
such a slow process, nobody notices,
until it's too late, then oh the shame,
how could we not have seen this sooner?

Till you're just a rotten corpse,
laying, fading away,
unable to drag yourself out of it all,
unable to put yourself out of misery,
just sitting and waiting for someone to do something,
but alas no one comes, no one saves you from yourself,
they may have helped at one point,
but like a book you're put back on the shelf,
'cause nobody has time to read you,
your pages have become too thick,
for all these light and simple minds,
it just simply makes you sick,
till the rage builds up inside you,
then all you can do is;
Snap.