In my waking hours I’m an unemployed college dropout, wasting my time taking drugs, drinking, slipping into the sharp fangs of apathy. Circles of despair, a sadness so low that even the idea of movement becomes too exasperating.
When I reach to touch the soft skin of Jezebel, I no longer feel that warm smoothness within my soul.
Snakes of her jet-black hair cover my chest as she lies asleep; I feel nothing but loss. She lifts her head slowly and notices that my eyes are open, staring into the dark void of lightlessness.
“What’s wrong?” she asks sleepily. “You look like you’re lost.” She lays her head back down on my chest, hot breath burning into my flesh.
“I am lost.”
“How so?” Jezebel inquires with a little more energy.
“Well, I actually mean that I lost part of me.”
“What part did you lose?”
“I lost the part of me that……that….”, suddenly losing myself in the meaning of the words. I bent my neck so I could kiss her warm, soft forehead, trying to make an attempt at real emotion, but nothing was there to be felt. I had lost.
I was void.
©️ written ~ 2020. Jacob Pickard.2026
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