My emotions are constant, yet I don’t feel them.
I don’t feel the love I’m supposed to get from my home.
I don’t feel the hurt that is displayed by the world.
I didn’t feel relief when you left and you were dirt.
I’ve been praying to feel anything.
I’ve been letting my house be a home, I’m still mentally alone.
I’ve been staying cut off from the negativity of the world, maybe I don’t belong.
You were toxic and I didn’t care then, I don’t even care now.
Maybe I’m the problem.
You can’t feel what you’re not interested in.
The love doesn’t interest me, the hurt doesn’t define me and you sure weren’t a sight for sore eyes.