it’s been a while
since I wrote something—
something to name
the numbness in me.
I haven’t gotten better,
but I haven’t gotten worse.
days blend into each other,
work blurs into static,
time marches on.
I don’t feel a thing—
or maybe
I feel everything.
a numb little mouse,
trapped in my room,
I wake up fine,
then spend the day
trying not to fall apart.
a text from a friend—
and I smile,
like maybe the day
won’t drown me after all.
but then night comes.
I stare at the moon
and wonder:
what is this feeling
boiling inside me?
emotions—so fragile,
spinning like yin and yang
but blurred,
lost.
and still, I wonder:
why is it
so empty
inside?
I haven't written anything in a while and this is the first thing that my hands wrote during this fog.
