Five Senses


Morgan Fuerstenberg graphic

I cannot see
Only allowing glimpses of light through my window blinds

But its winter

And it’s been getting darker quicker than usual

I cannot listen
The building is on fire

The alarm is pulsating on to my temples

I’m frozen into place and I like the warmth

I cannot smell
The trash is piling over

People hate seeing it

I do too

I cannot taste
My tastebuds have been burnt off

Never regenerated

Everything is bland

I cannot feel
Pain feels like a hug

It’s comfortable

And I cannot let go