Something sweet I used to enjoy, dropping everything just so I can savor the taste. Now I taste nothing, indulging in the comfort they gave me.
I used to enjoy milk and cookies, now I used them as a drug to comfort me in my sadness.
What I have is not a disease, yet I feel like should be treated as such. The lack of empathy I feel towards misfortune is quite painful, although it doesn't hurt actually hurt. Instead, there is a desire to understand, when in truth I have none.
I want to(more) understand, I want to feel your sorrow and sadness, yet my closed off heart refuses to offer sympathy. Yet there are times I open up a little, those little sparks of joy end just as they begin, as my heart quickly seals the happiness away.
As far as any doctor is concerned, there is no cure for something like this. The very least I could do is relive the symptoms, so that I can feel joy and love for that much longer. Perhaps time will heal the scars that cover my hardened armor, eroding it away in an acid rain of positivity, so I will be able to let my feelings go free, and look forward to the future. (less)
I read this on a T-Shirt once: The more I listen, the less I hear.
I found it to be true, I arrogantly let the words go though one ear and out the other. Because telling my friends or family to shut up about themselves would cause them to(more) say, "What is wrong with you? What did I do wrong? Have I done something wrong?"
I try not to tell, but yes. Yes they do, I want to be alone for a little while, I do not thrive on activity, regardless how fun it may be; it will still exhaust me.
So yes, I will listen, and I will hear less and less, until you give me the space needed to recharge. (less)
My beloved, I come to you, seeking comfort in your black winged embrace.
My angel of death, how I adore you, guiding me regardless of place or race.
Regardless of my dismay, regardless of my disgrace, you judge not, proving fair to all life. No matter how many, or(more) how few will weep, you care not for the strife.
Take me away, my lovely angel of death, guide me to my eternal resting place. (less)
There she is, the woman that pulled out my heart, and devoured it right in front of my eyes. There she is, brushing her long brown hair out of her eyes as she turned to look at me, looking down so that she can look at my face beneath(more) her sunglasses.
"Are you even listening to me?" She gawked as if I had lost all sense, well perhaps I did, or I wished this was the case.
Last night, I caught her texting her ex, for the thousandth time. Why do I let her get away with this, do I really expect her to change? I did actually, after all those years I spent with her. Should I really throw it all away?
I never did confront her, fearing it ending in the same way: We fight, break up, miss each other, then we're back together again; For something so familiar, it was something I'd prefer to avoid.
So there she goes, entering the blue car. Yes, she wanted me to get the car keys. I entered the house, grabbing the keys off the little table, wishing that my misery will end. This is it, this time I will do it for real, when we cross that bridge, I will veer the car to the side, hopefully killing us both instantly. Then again, I said this the last time, didn't I? (less)