Not inadequate,
not useless.
In fact I function far too well.
Far too aware but with no care,
no sense of self.
Not the inside, but out
I am more body, less soul.
Not the heart, liver or stomach,
but that which encompasses the whole.
I am the skin
I am the flesh
I live for muscle and bone.
I am the nerves that spark when touched
I am the familiar, if it is a woman, you have known.
I am the shadows against the wall,
The moisture that falls from the cheek as heap upon heap of people surround
creating a madness in my mind that intertwines with such sounds.
Screams
Joy
Tears
Boys
Girls
A timeline of touching.
A calendar of corruption
A life taken and killing the one that continues to rise from the ashes.
A life that crawls back to the fire from whence it came.
Accommodating
Settling
Regretting
Willing
So able to please
No heart, no whole
More body, less soul
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