i feel nothing

gut fucked,
a new sort of breathing,
a sigh of relief
and all the lines are blurred again.
a shallow grave
and deepest secrets are being tossed in.
and this whole scene has been a long time coming.
it's the cold feet that get me
really,
it's the rejection that has stopped hurting
that makes this even worse.
it's the melancholia that burns my bones
and makes my heart-ache.
it's the act of accepting everything
for how it is
that gets me everytime.
and the sheep in the field look like the softest clouds
to lay on and make
for myself
a home in the sky.
i'd invite you but you wouldn't like it much.
and everytime i sit at this table i get bitter.
and everytime i read the pages i feel it.
and everytime i start typing these words i hate myself a little more.
and this is bigger than me.
and i can't stand it.