Numb Numb to it all, Not just numb to the pain. Numbed by life’s struggle, Numbed by its strain. Numb to the present, It’s moment too vast, Spurred on by defeat, I’m numb to the past. Numb to emotion, Except doubt and pride, Desperate for the destination, But numb to the ride. Numb to the voices, Especially my own, Numb to wise words, I feel totally alone. Numbed by achievements, There’s always more, Numbed by missed chances, The memories are sore. Numb to opinion, What are their goals? Numb to society, And it’s absence of souls. Inspired by thought, But not to what’s real, It’s oxymoronic, But numb is all I feel.
It wasn’t even six o’clock in the morning and we were already inside the high security gates of Silverstone racecourse, those who had hired us hoping our tired eyes would fade into a tonic for those in need of lust as eighteen of us were set up as glorified a honey trap; me and Gorgeous George and sixteen beautiful twenty something girl’s all lined up as skin deep poster child’s of an overvalued shed. The two bosses called it a merchandise stand, but to me it was just a shed, one filled with overvalued merchandise with girls blessed with good genetics selling it. “Sex sells here, the depraved rich don’t know any better.” I’d been warned during the car journey on the way in. “Sex sells everyw
