Feel


    Anything to feel anything;


    Bite me, bruise me, break me, make me bleed,


    Curse me, cure my


    Defunct mind. Blurred lines


    Etched in discriminating exactitude upon my curiously numb


    Frontal lobe force me to seek something; fight me, fuck me,


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Gyrate upon me, gaslight and gut me, don’t pretend you want to


    Help me.


    I wouldn’t do that to you.


    Joke with your heart.


    Kink your throat like a hose,


    Laugh as your larynx fails to


    Make any sound that might save you. I’d do anything to feel


    Nothing. Numb. Nurtured. Nervous that


    Organic foods and paper bags won’t heal this dying


    Planet: really, I’d do anything to care. To read of Plato’s


    Questions and to give a damn like I’m sure I once did.


    Reminiscing: there was a time. I remember. Walks to the bus stop,


    Staring up at the sky, marveling at the clouds,


    Taking time to take it all in.


    Unashamed to experience. Not yet convinced of underserving. Not yet


    Vexed by a lack of silence, yoked by callous violence,


    Whetted to suffer, to recover, to discover meaning in molly,


    X, blow, sex, pain. Pining for lost


    Years, for failed love, for trips to


    Zion and Sequioa and Catalina with you.