tear upon the climbing highs,
rip-- bring up the 'cending lows.

this is living in your fears.

drinking through the breaking points,
a mind full of troubled pints,
there's a story within this glass,
a tale within her eyes.

hear the tale of broken glass,
beautiful in the moonlight,
like crackling indifference 'gainst
hope's warm embers of light.

claim the territory of her pain,
a force like soul-fallen rain
all in vain-- all in vain.

as she is...
she once was...

so shall she be.

so there is hope!
as once she was--

no! you cannot see?
the tale within her eyes?
the story within the glass?

so shall the rain fall,
pins and needles
pins and needles.

so shall the numbness grow.
novicane and empty bottles,
moonlight. tears.

all in vain: novicane.
all in vain: careful rain.

was she? the glass of my life?
shall she be? a tale of shattered moonshine?
am I the story, beautiful in fractured embers:
crackling indifference to hope?

so shall she be, it seems.
so shall I be in dreams:
again, under tearing seams.
broken. moonlit glassing gleams.

pain.
rain.

pins and needles.

Dear Nial,
Your claws sank into my sink and for a minute,
I experienced pain in the form of sharp needles piercing my insides,
And then,
Blank.

I felt nothing.
The world was burning to the ground and I stood there watching.
I couldn't move my feet, regardless of the weightlessness.
For the first time in a long time, my heart didn't trip over itself and make a run for the nearest exit.
It just stood there, pounding,
Waiting for me to make a move.
And I didn't.
I allowed the world to go by, to poor gasoline all over itself,
And set the fires into flames.
I could care less whether they reached out and turned me to ashes or if I was the only one to make it out alive.
I just didn't care.
I wanted to separate myself from the world because,
The world did everything it possibly could to drown you and I wasn't willing to die like that.
I wanted to move yet everyone and everything kept placing me back into a pit of suffocation and anguish.
I wanted out,
And if it was with me standing still watching as death claimed the souls of everyone around me,
Then so be it.
At least,
All I'll feel is nothing,
Empty,
Hollow,
Void.


Yours truly,
Angel

I leak when I don't know what to do or feel.

Laying on my side, the gates behind my eyes open
and a slow flood meanders through.
Exiting my tear ducts and making a pool on my right cheek.
I sit and I leak
like a broken faucet.

Only in silence
because though I'm weary,
I do not creak like an old broken sink.

My skin absorbs the empty tears
so quick that they cannot make their way onto my pillow case.
No trace of the lack of feeling that took place.

How pitiful is that?

A girl who leaks
because she doesn't know how to not be an old broken sink.

i cannot create today.
or at any other hour
though i scour each and every day
searching
for that special moment
where my brain finally produces
an idea.
a thought.
a way to express the things that
I cannot,
will not
feel.
but time passes
and grasses cover the pages
where my skin used to bleed creation
and now there is nothing.
nothing but green,
or thats what its supposed to be.
and now my muted tones
have seeped into the very soul
of livelihood.
greens to grays
no more living for them.
i ****** them all dry with
my dire need to please
no more fancy lip work from me
only blank stares at a blank screen.
fingers poised in a dance with only air
because words come from mouths and only hurt,
or at least that's what i was taught.
not that you or i can ever make a difference.
words?
who for?

Sadness never knocks at my door, after all - she sleeps on my floor
Though we live together, I feel we’re worlds apart

She teases me with her presence, but we rarely embrace
For her companionship I offer my time and tears, but this isn’t her fee

When I come near, she lingers for a moment but then she flees
I’m mesmerized by her allure, an attraction that seems improper

So I play a song that oft we danced unto, one in which we cried together
And for a moment she’s swept into my arms, but she tells me “we can’t go that far.”

I fear she may leave and never return,
Alone I’d live with my stony heart

deep inside it festers,
climbing up my ribs, moving across muscle,
wrapping around my vessels.
i’m not an elderly man,
but i am a withering soul
known for flipping itself inside-out,
all flesh and blood tumbling onto the floor.
there, outside, it festers,
a ball of greed and hatred.
i am looking at it with tired eyes
as it glares back. it always glares back.

i’ve shrunk back into my shell
camouflaged against the image
of tears streaking down cheeks,
early childhood not only a fond memory
but also a burden to carry.

i’ve descended into this hell
unknowingly, naive and blind.
my feet are bound to the icy floor,
my hands attracted to the flames.
there is no gray area when it comes to pain.

but i know too well the taste of nothing,
numbness that triumphs over a rosy garden of thorns.
my wounds are closed and the scars have faded
but the ghosts hover there, waiting and waiting,
searching for an opening to slip into.

deep inside it festers,
outside it sulks.
i am its host, its pitiful prisoner.
it knows me from my head to my
toes.

numb—(adj.): deprived of the power of sensation

i did not know what it meant to be truly numb until i begged an unseen god to give me back my muse. some way to rid my tired brain of this toxicity, to pop the ******* cork and let my emotions well over and release like champagne. in a forgotten time, words flowed out of me, slowly easing my mind of the noxious feelings eroding at it as pen was put to paper.

no longer can my emotions boil over into words; rather, they are pushed deeper and deeper into my being, slowly rotting me from the inside out. a lost sense of rhythm. a lost sense of touch in a dark room, no guides, no way to let out what i am feeling inside.

a false smile can hold a thousand words; a single teardrop, a million. i wish i had that ******* luxury. a look in the mirror at my tired and battered self, a deep cut of pain, but no blood flow. i absorb the pain into myself, still praying my muse will one day find me. destroy the dam built in my brain housing my lost sense of empathy, my deep pain. and as i write this short piece of prose on my inability to feel, hoping for a release of some sort,

i wait.