How it feels
Not alienation.
Never dissociation.
No longer self-preservation.
And certainly without modesty.
It is a numbness that lacks the connotation of apathy.
Outside the mind's stubborn inability to resonate, society roars on.
Magnificence and atrocity acknowledged.
Appreciated, respected, condemned, acted upon.
But never localized.
Throat gut sternum silent of sensation.
But years still meridian the body.
Light pelts ridiculously at the windowshield.
The soul monologues forward flawless as surveillance footage.
Only three sensations lower the glass.
Wet earth.
An auntie's threats of affection.
Laughter to the point of ruin.
Thank u Jenny Zhang for the title / my life