Living Death

By Succubus

It’s death without release

Left living in a void.

A shroud, wrapped tight:

Holding pain within,

Locking joy without.

A lack of feeling

A state of being—

Untouchable,

Unreachable,

Inconsolable.

Dust and ashes,

A walking ghost;

No substance holds.

Touch is an afterthought,

Too vague to be of comfort.

A smile locked in place,

For fear of what lies beneath it

Fear of feeling,

Fear of not feeling;

A smile forced,

To hide behind.

Smothering,

Locked tight,

Frozen:

In a death without release.