Am I devoid of emotion?
Why can't I compose a poem?
I cry,but no tears flow.
I'm cold,but i felt no breeze blow.
My soul screams out my pain.
But I don't feel it....insane?
From an active participant,
have I turned mute spectator?
So many suppressed feelings,
I enjoy the void,content in its constance.
Nothing to ruffle me,cause ripples in my calm.
It's the first ,when I've used my wounds as my balm.
If grief truly is joy,
turned inside out,
I've found my healing touch,
without a doubt!
