Dead Inside

*this poem was inspired by a discussion on that complicated reality called "LOVE" between a friend and I recently. He claimed that I was much better off than him, for at least I still dared to feel something. Sometimes, I am not sure that being willing  to have my heart splayed open like a gutted fish is a good idea. But I really don't know how to be any other way. I suppose if life gives me enough knocks, I too could become 'dead inside,'  (although I think it would have happened by now if it was going to.) I think that if i ever were to become "dead inside," it might be a wiser decision to finish life at that point, such is my desire to live a life that is full (even in suffering). He thinks I would lose my essence, my spark and I imagine he would be right. So I guess I'll have to suck it up. To truly live, one must be willing to be open to both love and pain, joy and sorrow.  I'm willing to take the hard knocks cause I know that even when it feels deep down ( and I mean DEEP DEEP DOWN) like there is no place left to go and I can't hold on that I am made of stronger stuff and even at every breaking point I know that this too shall pass...

Dead inside


the flame had peaked, blazed across the skies face in glorious hues
its heat insatiable
the flames grew, stretched itself out and engulfed all sense and reason
desire scorched its name into my soul
and i knew what it meant to be

it burns no more
this sacred flame which called unto me
smothered by the weight of my own inadequacies
slow flickers of light creep up and are snuffed out by the vacant space where hope once marched
i took the flame and quenched its thirst
so that not even a dying ember could chance to reignite.
this is what it means to be dead inside

a part of me, the best part, died that day
when i sacrificed my heart on the alter of self preservation 
and put you to the back of my mind
though you forever bleed through

constant

and i can't move forward
or stay the same

i don't feel anything anymore
not a peace inasmuch a dull relief
quiet; for i fill the silence with people and things to avoid the inevitable
and its safe here in this dying state
safe and sound and secure
and sorrowful

my wounds, scab and scar
time and her healing prowess have no power over the dead
so I mastermind my own execution
to free my heart from its wretched state
freed from the constraints of possibilities
hiding behind the truth of my death

I don't want to hurt again

and this is what it means to be dead inside