Of Sinkholes and Ice Cream

Down the alley, down the road, I walk. Leaving heartaches behind, smiles I carry with me, I show them off. I walk strong, palpable to the naked eye, felt by the blind, heard by you(even with earphones worn).
Trying to comprehend my purpose, I stopped. Trying to feel the trouble of what's inside, I undressed myself.
Sinkholes were all I had. A sinkhole in my heart, a sinkhole in my mind, of the many sinkholes that I have. A sinkhole deep down inside me. A sinkhole has consumed me, a sinkhole I have become, empty. A temple of sinkholes. One sick sinkhole.
I drown myself. Drown in suffering, suffering of the numb, of the heartless. Strong yet hollow. How could it possibly be?
I wander along the streets of emptiness, of a labyrinth. I lost myself in me. I tried to grasp onto something, of reality and the make-believe. Something in between. Something I could never perchance fathom.
I felt the coldness of the still air, coldness of my warm sinkhole-heart. Is there a cure? I'm not broken. Oh, god forbid.
I know what the heart yearns, what the mind seeks, what the body desires, the cure for all these: ice cream. And perhaps some peanut butter and/or nutella.
With sinkholes and ice cream, I survive.