I used to pride myself on
my sensitivity, but I
can’t remember the last time
I cried—not just
a single furtive drop silently
slipping out during a
sad movie, but a fullout-
hyperventilating-eyessting
ing-snotdripping-throatchok
ing-emotionpurging-lossofgravity-startbuild
inganotherark-inconsolable SOB.
(This may fall into the category
of be-careful-what-you-wish-for,
but recently I examined my soul
and it smelled like the stagnant air
of an attic long forgotten.)
the sieve and the sand 
when i cry my whole face starts to tingle like a leg thats been sat on for too long…
and i fear i’ll pass out… but i still drive so….
Crying used to be a hobby of mine.I’d make time just for that, like an experiment, I’d watch my eyes in the mirror trying to catch a glimpse of the thing called soul. My soul turned out to be like “the man who wasn’t there” by Mearns, so I sort of lost interest. Now, I scream every chance I get (mostly in isolated places). You’re probably wondering what is this person on about? You see, the question of the soul is my sole interest in life, and yours Mr Rcribay needs attention, maybe even a jump start. Or maybe you’ve transcended some emotions, in which case I’ll have no choice but to resent you…but I won’t because I scream and cry like the day I was born, that’s how you know if you’re a good person. So you’re a bad person rcribay, a very bad person. That’s my verdict. I’ll send your name to the good people advisory comity and they’ll fire you. Bye bye