Coping #7


the best i can describe it is something like

a tangled a mess a nest-egg of all of these–

well some people call them feelings or emotions

but that has never held any sway with me;

it goes deeper than that,

not a psychological response

or a neuron (mis)firing happily away 

somewhere in the neo-cortex or hypothalamus–

this consumes your life force,

devours your soul,

a fiery numbness that only self-destruction

can alleviate.

(It doesn’t hurt.)

I don’t feel anything at all–

there is only the angry pregnant need

to shock myself back to life 

in the most gruesome way possible.



About thefreescribbler

My life is one of words. I am a scribbler, whose thoughts are best expressed through adjectives and phrases and punctuation marks. I would not go so far as to call myself a writer, although many would disagree. I’m characterized more by my unfinished works and half-embodied ideas, scraps of stories and parts of poems. Maybe one day I’ll be a writer, but I’m okay with being a scribbler right now. It fits my personality and style, and best expresses my aims. I’m not trying to create some lofty version of literature. I’m just a kid blogging about life. View all posts by thefreescribbler

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