In the Misdt of Loss | Teen Ink

In the Misdt of Loss

November 6, 2012
By scarsinpoetry GOLD, Phoenix, Oregon
scarsinpoetry GOLD, Phoenix, Oregon
11 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
&quot;Evil being the root of mystery, pain is the root of knowledge.&quot;<br /> -Simone Weil


In moments of loss
one can feel many things
Anger
Sadness
Chaos
Loneliness
Confusion
Desperation

But in some instances
One can feel numb

Perhaps this is an oxymoron,
Can one actually feel not being able to feel?

In those instances in which
Numbness has spawned
To every inch of ones own ill mind,
and every pump of ones own angst-filled and naive heart, and has begun to make it's way through your body
by the blood which has darkened
ever so slightly since

In those instances in which
One can no longer feel in your heart
And skin can no longer be a victim to
self-inflicted pain any longer
Because all that's there is just numb
And the numbness has crept inside the skulls
And then coated the brain with
Sickly white fog

One begins to realize,
In the midst of all this loss
Our brains are no longer able
To process basic human emotion
And then we forget.
Who. We. Are.

Who are you or who were you?

It's no longer known
It's no longer cared
And even worse,
It's no longer wanted to be known
It's no longer wanted to be cared.

That's what numbness
does to a person
It comes into a body like a virus
Unexpected. Unwelcome.

It turns sadness into
Nothing.
Chaos?
Nothing.
Happiness...
Nothing.

It turns us to NOTHING!

This loss that's had
It's devastating
The body has no choice but
To protect itself
Except, like an auto-immune disease
It targets the wrong thing
It kills.

Until we're left with nothing
Apart from a soul-less wisp of a body,
and the faint memories of
What it was like
To feel.

Loss is hard
Painful.
EXCRUCIATING.
--But

To forget who we are,
To forget how to feel
Now that,
That is the hardest loss
one can ever experience.


The author's comments:
This piece came from a part of me, that is very, very dark. It came from a place that I have been forced to endure far too often in my life. To an extent of loss, not always physical, the original loss itself becomes entirely irrelevant as I begin to lose who I am in response. Like I mentioned in my poem, It's the bodies way of protecting itself, but like an auto-immune virus, it target the wrong area, and tears you apart.

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