Like a dam during a downpour,

like a door during a gale,

I strain against feeling.

 

If nothing is felt,

nothing expressed,

pain will bounce off me like so many comets off of the atmosphere.  

 

Like an open wound,

raw and exposed.

A feeding ground for the miniature.

 

Like a balloon whose air is slowly being released,

screaming and wailing,

slowly shriveling with the loss of all it is made of.  

 

My mind is sealed tight,

safe from infection, pain, and loss.

Cannot feel.

Will not feel.

 

A thought,

barely visible and iridescent,

slips through the cracks.

 

Before a hand can be slapped across my mouth,

sealing the exit,

my mind is laid bare by my escaped emotions.

 

In truth, to avoid feeling does not ensure a lack thereof,

it just ensures that you do it alone.