the broken people

I can’t speak and I don’t know why. There’s nothing wrong with my throat, and my tongue works perfectly well. Doctors always tell me I’m fine. But when I open my mouth nothing comes out but stupidity, half-formed thoughts and monosyllables and sentiments like My, isn’t the weather nice today? My mouth, I think, is empty.

I can’t see and I don’t know why. I don’t need glasses, not even for reading. My eye doctor just smiles at me when I tell him my problems, just smiles at me and gives me a lollipop. But no matter how hard I try I can’t see anything but dirty looks and angry people and fear. Maybe there’s just nothing beautiful left to look at.

I can’t hear and I don’t know why. Music sounds empty to me, repetitive and ugly with beautiful singers spitting meaningless words through my radio. I wonder if maybe they’re sick with whatever I have – maybe they can’t speak or see or hear either, maybe they’re really empty and they just hide it with their makeup and their muscles and their tans. It doesn’t really make me feel better.

I can’t feel and I don’t know why. I wouldn’t say no one understands me because that’s stupid and wrong, but everyone in the world could understand perfectly and it wouldn’t make me any better. I’m surrounded by people who love me, but sometimes I feel so empty inside that I make my arms bleed to check I’m still alive. I guess I am. But I don’t know why.

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