Scared. Broken up. Chewed like a piece of gum. Used like a piece of paper. Played like a pawn. All bruised up. That’s how it feels. There is no easy way to put it; no word that could describe how I feel. Or can I even feel anymore. I don’t know. Numb. That’s what I am. Just numb. Like a giant piece of rock, smacked right in the middle of an ocean, the fierce waves keep crashing into. You just get used to it; there is no other way. It isn’t the rock’s fault; he was just placed at a wrong place. A cruel joke nature played on it. It isn’t the waves fault either; they were made to crash. Numb. As he lays on top of me, I feel nothing but numb. He enters me again and again, numb; I look at the clock. The ceiling has a grand chandelier, corners beautifully crowned. I am reminded of how much I despise big, rich houses. People fill them up with expensive furniture, Picaso, DeVinci, plasma TVs, and yet they’re so empty and cheap. You walk in and it smells like some air freshener or new paint. What’s a home without an inviting aroma of a home cooked meal? He lays next to me, playing with my hair. I turn and give him a smile. I wish he would just drop dead. But then again, how would I make my living without my most regular high paying client? This body, this body of mine, what a blessing and a cruse. How beautiful yet completely disgusting. How useful yet completely useless. What a pride yet a complete embarrassment. I wish I could hide it somewhere. Throw it in a bag and toss it in a river. Never see it again. Free my soul. It asks for too much: food, water, shelter, health, maintenance; oh and the things it makes me do to satisfy them. Numb. It’s easier to be numb. Feel nothing. Live each day as it comes hoping it would be the last. Maybe I could finally be free. Maybe I could look in the mirror again. Maybe my daughters won’t follow my footsteps. Maybe just maybe it will be alright. But still each morning the sun rises, and so do I with it. Broken up. Lost. Sad. Living but dead, that’s how it feels.