The Couch

Sitting on the couch
Dusty, old, and brown
Staring out of a foggy window
At my dreary, wet front yard
I was just given the news
My grandma had finally passed

In that moment I felt something queer
Not an abundance of emotion
But rather none at all
I just sat there, still as a corpse
Laying in a coffin of anhedonia
Buried in a crypt of numbness

She officially died that rainy morning
But she was dead long before
Dementia had taken her from us
It killed her once vibrant mind
And left an empty husk in its place
That morning her body simply caught up

I was sitting on the couch
Dusty, old, and brown
When I got that awful news
I expected to feel despair
To wail in sadness and fear
But by then I was completely empty
of both feeling and of tears