Punctum Est?

So much running through my mind, twisting, turning- turning into an unpalatable soup, of sorts.

Waking up at the start of the end of the world,
But it’s feeling just like every other morning before,
Now I wonder what my life is going to mean if it’s gone,
The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour
And I started staring at the passengers who’re waving goodbye
Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?

Words are deserting me faster than rats fleeing a sinking ship.

I seem to be having such trouble sorting through what I’m feeling these days. And it’s odd because I feel like I’m not feeling anything. It’s almost as if I’m watching it happen to someone else.

I do feel an odd sort of coldness, as though my heart has been replaced with a chunk of ice. Dry, colder than liquid nitrogen; I am almost surprised when I don’t see frost on my fingers or a filmy, frozen steam when my breath leaves my body.

But that is purely physiologic, I am not certain how to explain the curious distance between my mind and my heart. They have always been at odds with one another, often violently opposed, always vocal (in a sense) with their disagreements, but now the silence is deafening.

I’ve lost something of myself, and I don’t know how- or even if I should try- to get it back.

I feel, well that’s just it, I feel nothing. No. Thing.

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