Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Jigsaws Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Tuesday 11/29/2005 11:33:00 PM

The truth is it doesn't hurt at all. I feel nothing.

Life was a balloon that popped long ago. All that's left is a shrivelled, broken skin.

There's this void between me and anyone else. Any kind of emotion that attempts to pass through it is dampened down to nil. Like when you leave the amplifier on high, but there's no music coming out of the speakers. That hum it emits that sucks up any other sounds trying to make you hear them. There's nothing else. Just the silence as it breathes so loud.

Maybe I just don't want to feel. Been there. Done that. It wasn't for me.

It's probably just the preliminary stages of letting go. Instead of assembling the puzzle, I'm deconstructing it. One tiny, awkwardly shaped piece at a time until the picture that was once there no longer exists.

2 comments:
Anonymous said...

If one is to 'feel', there is risk involved. Pain, pleasure, hurt, comfort, betrayal, loyalty.....Friendship.....all possibilities. To love...to be loved in return....all possible, but there is risk involved.
Don't let go.....the good things about balloons, is that they generally come in packets. You can always blow up another one?!

alcholic poet said...

Yes, the risk. I actually used to like that aspect of it.

Still do I guess.

Just catching my breath for now. Will probably blow up a few more before all is said and done.




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