There’s a whole ocean of emotions I’m being deprived of.
Not even my toes are allowed to be dipped into it.
What is this ban that won’t let me feel what others feel yet I can write what others cant.
They can weep and show emotion.
They grow pale and withdrawn.
But I continue on like nothing happened.
Perhaps I’ve lived so introverted for far too long and a display of emotion is the last thing I am capable of to the outside world.
Maybe the clutter of my own mess is too weighty to allow me to see past myself, past my state.
Maybe this is punishment for my awakened ego asking such self important questions, as it’s obvious, I, I’m, me, my… always referencing me.
But I digress, there it is again, even my digression has an I, even explaining that has a my.
Maybe there are no tears because all of this has to stop being about me, but rather him.
We’re vain aren’t we.
Someone else dies,
and it’s always about our hurt,
our feelings, our state,
not realising there’s little time,
left to banish ego,
before we meet our fate.