Plan Z.

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I no longer feel a thing.
When I am with you, my body is heavy, my mind is blank. My heart only pumps blood and my feelings are no where to be found.
It is not a horrible thing, really it isn't.
Is the absence of love worse than overwhelming hatred?
Is the engulfing darkness worse than the blinding white light?
I am no longer myself but you wouldn't know,
that itself is not such a bad thing either.
I study my palms like they're someone else's.
Trying to recognize the outlines and comprehend the shape of my fingerprints, I try to reread my eyes, maybe they'll give away glimpse of something, I am becoming a stranger to me,
Detached of my own world,
An outcast, locked outside and inside simultaneously, floating around,
Only debris from my past form,
Shedding my skin,
An agonizing yet crucial transition,
I have no control over this.
But tomorrow, the sun will rise again, oblivious to my suffering,
Tomorrow the moon will hang limply in the sky, bored and lonely even with the trillions of stars surrounding it,
Tomorrow, I will start over,
Tomorrow I will try again.

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