Apathy

It doesn't feel a thing.
Apathy is numb, weathered.
It is a scab over wounds of the soul.
Sometimes it is a scar, reminding of past pains.
Apathy is for the damaged, the weary, the hopeless.
It doesn't flinch oncoming trouble,
Nor does it care to remember past troubles.
Though it's painless,
Apathy was born of pain.
It is pain covered up, hidden to be forgotten.
Apathy is callus, hardened through time,
It is a rock braving the force of crashing waves, unmoving.
Apathy is the wall protecting one's heart,
It is built brick by brick from painful experience.
Apathy isn't the best to feel,
But it defeats the pain of plucking your internal stitches.