Numb
Numb is not an absence of feeling,
it is the absence of will,
the blurring lines between hot coffee
and iced water,
the unchanging tone between sunrise and
sunset,
where my cardigan feels like his arms, feels
like a straight jacket, feels cold,
but not caring for the goosebumps,
or the soft cotton, or the two week old stain
on the collar.
Numb does not remove sensation,
it turns it into TV static,
fighting for signal but never finding a clear picture,
mashing the broken buttons,
over and over,
this time, it will work
but the white fuzz forever bounces,
illuminates a quarter of the room,
hurts my unadjusted eyes until I can’t help but turn away,
thinking blindness is a kindness.
Numb is forever kind,
a safety net, a shield,
my bodyguard, engulfing me,
saving me from a tragedy, unlikely,
until my circulation breaks,
and the static overtakes
my body, too,
twists and chokes and
feasts upon my mind, parasitic,
and feeling becomes fleeting,
forgotten.
If you enjoyed this, you may also like:
