There is a silence.
A silence snaking through the empty paths in my head.
Someone turned the radio to mute.
A static signal, but I’m far
too numb to notice.
Take a white pill.
Let it coat your insides;
thick paint washing you out in white.
I’m numb again, riding a wave that doesn’t
meet the beach.
Suspended in a still ocean;
can you imagine waves never breaking?
A vast ocean that never rolls or tumbles?
That’s me on the inside.
I’m regulated and monitored to the second;
my body ticks over into offence.
Prevent the storm.
Make sure you take that white pill.
Let it soothe that restless turning;
cogs sparking and running;
stop the thoughts from chasing you.
People notice more about me than I do.
‘You seem happier’.
I don’t notice a thing; pins and needles aren’t
pinpricks stabbing up my leg,
but a dull ebb.
You think I seem better, less anxious;
less on edge, waiting for a collapse to override my system.
But I don’t feel a thing.
They keep me from having to worry about a feeling.
Is that white pill making your horrors fade away?
Are your demons drifting to some other realm?
Are they scuttering along stained walls;
colonising the deepest shadows on the inside;
hiding in fright?
I don’t know if they are running scared. I don’t feel anything to
tell me they are still here or there.
I can’t remember.
I’m just drifting along plain sands; I know I should sense the heat of the
desert, but I don’t. It’s just coarse sand under my feet.
I’m stable. For now. Drifting through listless,
silent voids with myself.
Life and people I can still react and sense and speak with.
But you have become a distant echo, distorted through space;
muffled and hollow tones behind a vacant door.
I sense you. I know you. I can tell you I care for you.
But I can’t do the same for myself.
I simply don’t know.
Tick, tick, tick,
each second monitored and regulated.
I feel the pulse as that little white pill surges along my streams and rivers.
Helping me. Helping you stay beside me.
But I don’t feel I thing.
I’m grateful I can escape like this;
but I also despise the necessity of escape, in this way.
I don’t feel a thing.
*Art by “Fine Art by Sandra”- Pinterest*