I don’t feel a thing.
Nothing.
Nothing as I walk through the flames of my internal uproar.
I do not comprehend the feel of the flames
Licking my skin,
As they leave a white-hot trail of slime.
I do not understand the full weight
Of every nerve in my body being ignited
Under the consumption of utter and immense pain.
I do not realize the complexity
Of my heart
Shattering to pieces.
The question plays over and over,
Wrapping around my skull,
Crushing my cranium.
But is it real?
The sensation that I feel in the dark depths of my subconscious—
Is it truly what goes on around me?
Or shall I continue to imagine the delusion in my broken innocence?
I don’t feel a thing.
Nothing.