Anhedonia

My heart beats like the murmurs of children hidden beneath the floorboards.

Afraid to be seen the hide away whispering quietly, their voices muffled by the floorboards.

The children yearn to taste the light once more and dance beneath the rain, but the are left with dimmed rays and murky rainwater dripping through the floorboards.

With time they forget what it means to feel the vibrancy of life as they grow accustomed to their muted lives beneath the floorboards.

Sometimes they pound upon the boards hoping and clawing till their little fingers bleed, craving to be free, but the rubble has trapped them beneath the floorboards.

As time marches endlessly onward they cry their muted tears alone in the darkness, they hear the joyous laughs and see the loving embraces through the cracks of the floorboards.

Alone always alone, no room to move or express, no love to be found for the children who hide beneath the floorboards.

They are afraid to be found, to be robbed of joy and beauty again so they live their lives trapped beneath the floorboards.

Always in pain, the children grow numb, forgetful, what was life like above the floorboards?

They watch through the cracks as they clutch their hearts as the beats grow dull and empty beneath the floorboards.

Their tears have dried, their weary bodies crumpled against the wall, they watch beneath the floorboards.

Their corpse-like gazes still and sombre, death becomes the stillness of their eyes beneath the floorboards.

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

The title is apt. Growing numb is a tragic thing.