Atrophy

My empathy muscle has atrophied
I look for you but the muscle no longer flexes
I desire to feel sympathy, understanding, and alignment.

Instead.
I feel nothing.

My head knows something should be happening.
Yet my heart feels cold and gray
A far off feeling tries to whisper in — hey, over here
But I cannot look that way

The atrophy runs deep
On the brink of forever failing.
To never heal and feel and care about anything, ever again

How deep must I dive
How low must I sink?
Can I come back from this cold dark brink?

My empathy is atrophied
Frozen up from overuse
I cannot feel everything all at once

But the world can’t stop screaming at me to care.
I try to trigger it. The empathy muscle.
I push and prod and wish and hope
For it to kick in.

I push and consume, trying to find more.
I push at the desire to know more and more and more
It’s a sickness, consuming, draining me
Keeping me locked up, frozen, splitting my attention.
I HAVE to know more and more and more