It's strange how in the midst of your darkness
I forget the....
what is it...?
The beauty in eloquence,
the words I could transform into a comforting home
where you could leave your heart to mingle with mine.

But in the midst of your darkness
I've also forgotten how comfort feels.
My words build only havoc.
A river running neither upstream nor down,
but somehow still chaotically thrashing my
"comfort."

You are not the light,
that will relieve your own darkness.
I feel no love, no hatred, no sadness.
I've forgotten how to feel them all.

My words are no longer
something to be proud of
you've taken from me
even the beauty in my poetry.

I've got nothing left
but emotionless words
on a blinding screen,
as I hide myself from the world
here in your darkness.