“What Fills The Vacuity”

Have you ever felt the crushing weight of emptiness?
Have you ever felt like a void inside you was somehow keeping you from collapsing in on yourself?
When I stop thinking, and just feel, I don’t really feel anything
I know I’m full of organs, and tissue, and blood, and bone, and sinew
But I don’t feel any of it
Don’t think I feel weightless, and don’t think I feel effortless
Every motion requires so much expenditure I’m surprised
That I don’t die from the exertion
Of course, this is blatant over-poeticizing.
But there’s a degree of truth in it
I’m not immobile, struggling to get from place to place
It’s actually automatic whenever it’s thoughtless
But the second I consider how I feel
When I stop and think
And listen to my sensations
I’m stunned
I can’t believe I can get anywhere
I can’t believe I can open my mouth
Or lift up my arm, or stand up, or get dressed
I sit there in wonderment at how difficult it all feels
I’m appalled at how miserable I am, and ashamed about it too
I’m shocked that the instant I drop the pretenses
Everything is different, and not in a good way
I slip from confident to desperate
From satisfied to emaciated
My muscles tighten up and telegraph their discomfort
My bones ache
I feel my blood flowing through my extremities like mercury
Thick, quick and toxic
My inner ear malfunctions
And I fight to keep everything level
Though part of me wonders
“Is the world just trying to right itself?”
My lungs and intestines collapse
My heartbeats resonate through my chest like a timpano
My joints creak
My tendons and ligaments turn to dry rope
My skin burns
Most distressingly
Among all this sensation
I can’t feel nothing again


Copyright 2010 Andrew Whiting



About andrewwhiting

A sentimental and sarcastic poet, lover of language, traveling and nature (not a fan of the Oxford comma).
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