Sunday, June 1, 2014


I have taught myself to not feel.

It's like holding a breath–
practice makes perfect–
little by little, you keep going

I recite lines in my head.
I compose them. Pretty soon
seconds, agonizing before, tick by as
unfazed numbers
meaningless, without production.

Like lines on the wall
I blend
not too much that I'm noticeably invisible
only so much that I just am.

I'm here. But not.
You'll see me, but you won't really.
But it's okay because
at least I'm here
that's what you see.

What you think you see.
We see what we want to.

No one wants to stop
but it's okay
because I don't want you to.

The art of unfeeling, of rewinding, of erasing
is like holding a breath.
And I keep going
it's decreasing, isn't it–

there's no more breath to hold

Inspiration: Habits by Tove Lo

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