Lack of ing Soul

My soul has been burning as though what used to flow through me has dripped to a close, A dry spout without any where to go. Without that wet, raw power flowing through my veins, without any heart to pump it, It allowed all the fires of the oblivion to light. Without any flaws that stick rigid in my eyes, Without any holes that dig fat in my stomach, Without a pain worth centuries bearing over my head, My soul has been left to burn. A loss I keep feeling, so deep and so whole and so— so hard. Like if a mother lost her baby-to-be, Like if a lover lost his bride-to-be, Like if a person, two arms and two legs, were to split, and tear everything that didn’t have double. My soul has been burned to ash, an ash so dark and light, so feathery, like its only use left was to bake a dough, Left so flakey and light, so easy to tear. Oh of all the God damned things in all this life could offer, Why did I have to lose my soul! The one that forced my heart to pump, The one to keep my eyes wide, The one to open my stomach deep, The one to hurt myself continually. Without a pain or a care, how am I meant to create? With all I’ve ever worked towards— it has torn my ing current, has dried all my pathetic tears. And now what? I’m left with a useless shell that lacks all that I needed to be. And all that I ever was.