Icarus's blog: "Somantics"

Only one way to know for sure.
Fingertips
wet lips
dry bottles

Thick varnish, chipped on spilled beer and foreheads.

I feel nothing.

sharp dirt in the cracks
the wail of a siren
Pickup
dropoff
trauma
morgue.

All passes by so blank.
So blur.

That initial burn before the numb.
That first glare before light.

I feel nothing.

Fingertips
wet lips
warm
exposed
flesh
ecstatic gasps
the wail of sirens

I feel nothing.

My hand
her face
that initial glare
fading in
fading out

the stains on the sheets
pickup
the awkward
limp drop

I feel nothing.

sharp dirt
bare
exposed
wet
flesh

The wail of sirens.

Such a blank.
Such a blur.

Fading in.
Fading out.