To Not Be Alive Poem by Melissa Joy Chesky

I don't know how to feel.
What is happiness again?
What is this optimism you speak of?
I don't know what to say to you.
I can't even look at you
for I am ashamed -
truly and deeply disgusted -
of myself, of my actions and feelings.
What is there to tell?
Not one thing I can say to make this better.
What the hell am I to do?
It's not a changeable situation,
you're committed for life,
but emotions don't just erase for me.
They have to be excised out of my veins,
Like demons riddling my body:
removed forcibly and excruciating;
always traumatizing, always present in future times.
Nothing goes away,
so how can I expect you to?
How can I forget how to feel about you?
You've done it so easily,
please teach me the ways.
Is there a way to stop the beating of my heart
and still live and breathe with blood immobile in my veins?
With no blood surging to my brain
I can get past this.
To not be alive,
I can live again.
I can start over if I can just stop the feeling.
Can I please get a daily dose of Vicodin, Dr. Cupid?
With arrows so sharp, wings so celestial;
could you administer it, please?
Just right at the base of my skull
so it can run south down my spine,
trickling down so numbingly warm,
a comforting anesthetic fire.
Can you, please?
I just don't want to feel anymore.
Not if he won't be there to receive my feelings.
No, for no one else's pleasure.
It can never be another's.