Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

Maybe there is a name,
Perhaps I should look it up,
Shakespeare probably coined something close,
Some earthly identification for this hell-ish emotion...
Some kind of bittersweet painful detachment,
It's name is not numbness... For certainly I can feel it.
An internal hurricane,
Everything displaced and ruined,
And yet you look upon a house, still standing...
Ignorant to the carnage behind the curtains,
Total devastation.
Could that weight filling my stomach be my tears of anguish?
Because they aren't upon my face where I usually display them.
Simultaneously absent and present.
Mind, body and heart, deconstructed
And hastily glued back together, leaving few traces of their previous demolition.
Through the cracks my demons creep,
I've invested years getting to know them all on a first name basis.
Shame visits me daily, frustration and despair frequent my nights and anxiety is my inseparable companion.
They are old and used like dog eared books,
But this is brand new and unfamiliar,
Terrifying in its anonymity.
I sense something insidious,
If only it would declare itself...