The Emptiness of Feeling
A convulsing, overpowering feeling of disgust,
Deeply embedded inside.
So terrible and horrifying; yet so familiar and shameful.
Hollow, empty, nothing to be contained. Such a gigantic hole, full of noting but hate.
It tears and rips through inside.
Leaving a jagged line behind, as a memento of its true power.
How can a person be filled with such anger and shame,
When this feeling was inside the whole time?
How can this be the only thing that one knows, that one feels, the one thing a person has to cling to without wanting?
Why is it apparent, and why can’t it be extinguished?
It’s not a drug, a craving, or even an addiction,
But an unneeded want.
A want that’s impossible to understand why, but it is.
This feeling of shame and regret,
Why is it the only part of me I know?
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