Tell me why I can't sleep.
I'm staring at my phone,
Draped in darkness, all alone.
Solemn, silent, joy agone;
Sorely sick of feeling nothing.

I can't muster any old ambition.
Time winds down but won't abscission.
Slowly it keeps moving, and yet I'm sitting still.

The happiest I've ever been... about three years ago.
It's cathartic don't you know?
Just to sit back and remember.

Is free verse even poetry?
It's purely unperpetuated,
Obnoxious, and inebriated
Slowly slurring slurries of distinguished eloquence and grace
With no outstanding reason, rhyme, or measure of it's pace.
It's disgusting, and undignified;
An element of haste.

Or am I just upset with all my words that hit the page?
My emotions, things of rage... or longing
My mind feels like a cage.
Oh I just hate feeling this way
And yet I do.

Oh take me back in time
To a world where she was mine
When all my poems weren't so...
Depressing.