At times like this I curl up around cups of tea and wish I had a fire to keep me warm. Not my body - it's summer! - but inside. A blanket to wrap around my heart.Then it starts to slip. The abyss looms, no difference would be made by fire or ice. Nothing will penetrate but it isn't peaceful, it howls and screams. Not for warmth; for numbness, for the bliss of nothingness.
...But the numbness doesn't stay numb; or numbness alone isn't enough, it aches, it itches, it cries for blood and for sensation. Lighter, knife, anything but just the howling.
It leaves me confused, do I want numbness or sensation?
The answer is in neither; only in not being, and still I am here.
