When you become numb, and
the signals in your head
slow down to a run
and you become blank

Your future smells rank, but
you thank the skies, as you
burst the bags under your eyes
and feel, for once, release.

You stroke your face, but
knowledge has ceased, and
your fingers are peaceful now,
as you release them now.

To roam unfeeling.

Peeling away the lines that
have taken home there,
you moan, unheard, and
feel

nothing.
Nothing
No thing can
reach you
now.