where did that come from
fucking hell, every night
i wanna lie on the floor and not think for a month or two.
Typewriter Poetry #795 by James Andrew Crosby
I want to feel something.
I haven’t felt anything for so long
that I start questioning my decisions,
reviewing my acts that led to this-
I don’t know,
I mean, I stopped hurting but
it seems like I’ve stopped loving as well.
In my efforts to stop being fragile,
soft and vulnerable,
I grew a thick skin that nothing
can penetrate in…
but nothing can also get out.