not what it used to be

Cravings. An urge for sentiments. To feel things. Lately it seems like I have been locked inside a closet, no communication either ways. I have been a plastic flower, a painting on the wall, a forgotten framed dead kept away on some dusty shelf somewhere in a room where no one ever goes. I tried wine, tried to smoke 11 cigarettes in a row, tried to bury myself under thousands of layers of silk, tried to read the classics - dream and fantasize about a world beyond mine. But nothing worked. It just left me with a pounding headache and no food in my body. An uncontrollable search for life and death. Questions constantly filling my head and mind. A need to know why and why and why. Is that the reward of this emotional anorexia?