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Story Notes:
Written at 2am, during a depressive episode, after 10mg ox---done (edited for spam filtering).

The world beyond emotion
lies bleak,
a grassy pasture
without scent or colour,
or the sound of wind through the blades underfoot.

Touch is as nothing, as though sensation
no longer means a thing.
Beyond fear, interest, sorrow, lies apathy.
Blank sheet
without emotion.
Even thought
is hard to grasp
in that place
when you don't care to find it.

Who knows what lies beyond that?
What might?

People talk of it, but all that is meaningless,
until you've been there. Known there.

If your eyes were open,
not blinded but unseeing,
would you still be afraid?

Sometimes I think
I'd almost prefer it,
because then,
it would not frighten me
not to care what I see.

The sound of silence
can be so heavy.
So solitary,
as if no voice can penetrate
that airy veil of nothingness.

If you can break
the silence of the heart
that longs to care at all,
tell me how.

If you can break your own, that too.

It's something. And something
is more than the blank sheet of paper
I am holding.

A dearth of nothingness.

Can you give me that?

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