There is a feeling,
it used to be numb.
A cold blanket,
spread over my whole being
that was made by the sweetest grandma. With
color,
details,
countless needle pricks.
What a beautiful job grandma!
It covers me grey and tattered,
stretched and soiled.
There is a feeling I feel;
it used to be passion.
Aires fire fumes through my nostrils.
Thoughts, words and feelings strike my mind
but my quick witted ways never caught up with age.
There is a storm of expression and frustration fighting above my head.
It get violent;
I want to cry,
but I drink water to stop the flames.
All of this dies out as it
fizzles
out
until even the smoke is gone.
Quiet.
There is a feeling that I feel:
indifference.
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