My head is a wasteland;
exploded, scattered with detritus,
a bomb gone off
& left.
Silence evades
the place
that longs for peace.
Thoughts can be heard;
words flung into the air,
hover up there
screaming.
Numb tastes so sweet
arriving ahead of trailing pain,
like dusk
without a face;
in between place
of calm;
your eye
amidst the storm
& with it all
that withdrawal
makes me meeker,
bleaker.
I look at you
& laugh
because
what else is there to do?