Mind of a Psychopath
A poem
A poem
A stillness, eerie and unnatural,
permeates the psyche,
no currents of emotion,
no ebb and flow.
Where others feel there is only a vast,
unending emptiness, a black hole
that consumes all light,
all warmth.
Empathy, that essential bridge
to the shared experience of humanity,
has been severed, cauterized, leaving
only cold, unyielding indifference.
The self, a solitary island adrift,
unable to connect, to truly see another,
trapped in the claustrophobic confines
of an isolated, self-absorbed existence.
Impulses, desires, whims, these alone
provide the illusion of animation,
masking the underlying void, the absence
of any true depth or substance.
A wealth of mirrors, reflecting
only the self, endlessly, without end.
This is the psyche, the tortured mind
of one who feels nothing, sees nothing,
is nothing
but the void within.