Numbness does not mean that the hurt goes away,
it becomes a dull throb instead of a piercing pain.
Did I dry my tears?
Or did I just run out?
It's so much darker in the passenger's seat,
soon enough I fall into sleep.
How long were my eyes shut?
How many days did I lose in the fog?
The auto-pilot light binks out of control.
The breaks go out and we start to roll.
And I am trapped with my ghost driver.
Does anyone see my hollow smile?
Will anyone notice that I am barely surviving?
If not, that's alright.
I am the one who tinted windows and locked doors.
I imprisoned myself in my own mindless mind,
where the ghost driver is thoughtless and rash.
Where no one can see that I am not really alive.
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This poem is about dissociating and going about daily life not truly seeing, hearing, or doing anything.