I used to dread the
numbness that would envelop me
Any time the wind told it to.
Every cell of me suddenly
Unable to recognize
A purpose I so desperately needed to
Grab hold of
Reaching with every ounce of energy
Present in my body,
Clasping so tightly that the bones in my hands broke in so many places that the doctor cried
Willing myself to obtain any sort of traction on the sensation of
A will to live that loved to slip
Through my fingers as if I was trying to hold on to the air vibrations that I recognized as your laugh.

And I suppose that it's true that you just always want what you can't have,
Because now I'm crumpled up
Naked and demolished  
Having the wind knocked out of me again and again
As the unimaginable pain of
A black hole, that now occupies the space of the heart I carefully cut out and trusted you with was, continues to try and pump blood through dry and brittle veins, but just doesn't know how. And I'm very aware that it is a biological certainty that a lack of circulation results in death.

And if I still had anything of worth, I'd trade it in a second for the numbness that was taken for granted. The remedy that would right now save all my internal organs from seizing up due to the completely paralyzing hurt that is now the genetic makeup of every blood cell in my body, scratching up the interior walls of my veins because of the disagreement between the razor sharp spikes that have grown on every molecule of blood that I wish I would let myself drain, every one laced with extremely concentrated shots of inescapable doses of loneliness to be diffused into the deepest parts of your being covering each one, and the exhausted and fragile state of the paths being subjected to the anguish of scar tissue never being able to heal.