How demeaning it all feels
when everything that happens
feels part of a Deja vu
that you’ve already lived,
like a smile you get used to
or a gaze that’s no more new,
a reason you get accustomed with,
or a feeling you get acquainted for!
The world’s hurting
but the pain no more hurts,
you feel like crying
but the cries are all dry,
reverting into a hole
where you’ve started feeling comfort,
and nothing sad could ever get sadder.
How destroying that story should be,
but it’s not!
It doesn’t feel the same,
like the cut you can’t feel
when the blade slices into you
and you are left with the mystery
between pain and misery.
Do you know that sensation?
Of an anxiety that makes you
go numb,
but you know you’re feeling much more,
more that those sorrows and disgust,
more than just being
a mere menace.
You know how being worthless feels like,
and even when you see someone the same way
you know they could get out of,
you don’t move much,
for you’ve already gone over
to the space where everything that happens
comes with its own sense
offamiliarity**.