I have this feeling of insolubility
that cannot be quenched,
hunger without satisfaction,
fatigue that eternity’s dark warmth could not soften.
I continue to search for something to bring me peace
and nothing is clearing the sand from my eyes.
I sleep hours longer than I ever used to, but suffer all the same.
I don’t know where to go, or who to see. What am I looking for?
Something past the gray gloom shrouding my mind’s eye.
However poetic I sound, this is how I feel these past weeks.
I continue on. Driving through the fog, uncertain what’s ahead,
uncertain still of who I am now, and what the significance of the past means to me.
Suicide is beneath me, as is screaming bouts of rage.
These emotions cannot be quite expressed
through such primal actions,
and thoughts of the self deprecating nature.
Like my car covered in the morning dew, I drive on.
I don’t see where I’m going, but rather feel it,
a memory of the days’ past.
My body lingers on.
In the routine it’s under, trudging along without purpose.
I wipe the windshield but the fog returns
never acknowledging my efforts.
The sun too is against me,
refracting its rays through the water further ruining my perception.
Desensitized to my monotony, I continue on.
z.m.