Pain.
Splinters. Shards of Broken Glass. Reflections.
Bottles of Glue, Empty. More Cuts.
Pain.
Blood. Drip Drip Drip. Mop. Mess. Frustration.
Pain.
Floor. Ceiling. Vertigo. Pain.
Pain.
Sickening. Low. Vacuum.
And you stop feeling. You just stop feeling anything. Note that I didn’t say everything. I said anything. Everything would mean awareness of things. Awareness is feeling. And I’ve stopped. Rag doll. To whom emotion seems a far away strange word. A word known long ago. Just too vague now. Wiped clean. Un-revivable. Void. And there sleeps the dog. Wonder if it knows what it’s like to feel nothing. Be empty inside. And not even feel the existence of shell. *Realizes that even the sighing has stopped* I can’t tell you what it really is. I can only tell you what it feels like. And I’ve stopped feeling. So I can’t tell.
Psychodoodle 