I waited for the tears to come as they always do –
endless until they meet empty slumber.
But none appear while hollow breaths
punctuate the silence of the room;
affirmation of the torrent of emotions
suddenly hushed to quiet.
I am without pain
only inexplicable stupor.
Then even that dissolves into the void.
Where is anger, where is hurt?
These emotions I understand.
Where is pity and the martyr proclamations of self?
Them I am acquainted with.
But not this, never this.
This is not sorrow or relief,
neither confusion nor bewilderment.
I am not jaded, I’ve met apathy.
How simple those are against this nothingness.
No logic and sense can make of this
a product of uncountable facets of a myriad of emotions –
simmering frozen black goo named unknown.
At this moment of self-contemplation,
I am utterly broken.