Indifference

I’m indifferent to almost everything—
The chaos, the joy, the rising sun.
What happens out there…
Feels like a show I never bought tickets for.

The smiles, the cries, the sheer exuberance
Of others just being—
Passes through me,
Like wind through hollow trees.

Only when it touches me
Or my children—
Does this shell stir,
Does the static crack.

There’s a weight inside—
Not made of pain,
But non-expression—
Thoughts that stayed too long,
And rotted quietly in the corners of my mind.

Insensitivity grew.
Empathy faded.
Now, indifference is all I know.

The rest—
Feeling, caring, acting—
Feels like a mountain too steep,
So I just…
Sleep.
Binge.
Scroll.
Repeat.

And the soul—
Dies slowly.
Without even screaming.


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