A gallery full of flawless art.
The colorful walls are lined with portraits.
My canvas face observes patiently.

The drones buzz around the room.
Stinging, they leave no honey.
Jagged lines, a black and white visage.

Swarms amass on the colored sheets,
Desperate for a hit of gratifying nectar.
My crude gaze has none to offer.

The incessant humming is deafening.
As I hang there, suspended, in neglect.
The sun sets; wasps return to their hives.

The artist who drafted me chose stark lines,
And hung me unfinished in that dark corner,
Reminding us of apathy for works in progress.

Apathy, oh dear apathy
How I suffered slowly
Heart so lonely
Even safe in their arms
Your coldest embrace
Hides my tear-stained face
Save me from the shell
From the nothing I have become

Dear apathy, dear apathy
My heart rings lowly
An echoless bell,
A great empty shell,
Ever trapped in the greatest of hells

Why you come to me I do not know
For you cover my soul and call it home
Shelter me from the rain in my head
Even when I wake from my shivering bed

There is no more dread
There is no more pain
Not sorrow nor aching
Only nothing again
Nothing but numb
What have I become?
What have I...become?

Dear apathy
Even when I should be happily
Joyously so
You refuse to go
Oh the great things that you know…

Dear apathy, dearest apathy
My heart, it suffered slowly
Until you came to me
Took me into your embrace
You shelter my tear-stained face
From all of this disgrace
That has become me…
Whatever am I to be,
With or without you
My dearest apathy?

My dearest apathy
I suffered so slowly
Heartstrings, tear and fray
For indescribable reasons I stay
Even whilst they play
Ever so lowly

There is no echo, no ring or sound
There is no song, no feeling at all
There is no care, not a bit in the world
For I have given all I have to give
In this great life that I live
I give and I give…
Until I can no more
Until I can no more
My heart opens the door…
It opens the door
Welcoming you into my coldest embrace

Dear apathy, you came for me
When I needed you most
I was but your host,
A wailing ghost
Until you came to me…
Now my greatest emotions
The vastest of oceans
They rest, now
They leave me be…
Since you have come to me
They leave me be…

Dear apathy, dear apathy…
These times you come to me
Shelter me, hold me to be
Lulled into your coldest of arms
Silence the alarms
Out with the candle
Out with me…
And welcome, dearest apathy

- Jay M
October 11th, 2021

Tolerance seems kind;
guised, it's apathy malign,
silently we pine.

Sadness and numbness collide
It feels like too much and I'm not alright
I can tell something's wrong inside
If it weren't so hard I'd give up on this fight
A piece of me wants to get better
Other parts just want my demise
So back and forth my mood tremors
So many thoughts that they all sound like lies
I'm too anxious to even discuss it
Too many choices I make make it worse
The doctors say drugs do not help this
But this bottle's relief and a curse
It's so hard to complain since I know that
My own actions add weight to this burden
I crave an escape but I forget
Not even those will stop this hurting

It was hot today.
I sweat putrid droplets of misery.
Everyone around me could smell it -
   apathy, fear, and disgust;
   otherness.
I wish that I didn’t have to speak at all.

It rained,
   but I wasn’t washed clean.
I went to the bathroom.
I couldn’t stay there,
   so I tried blotting them off with a paper
   towel.
They stubbornly clung to my surface like oil.

I joined the others.
We went back to the crowd.
I waited for the music to wash over me, but I felt nothing.

You speak of change constantly.
Like Flux capacitors are sold in stores.
Trying to mend past and future selves.
Trusting that they might collide on a single scope.
And STOP.
Is this pleasing.
Easing into planned mediocrity.
Dancing to tunes with broken strings.
Laughing at hardship.
Hoping it's seen as resilience.
Then wake to cold sweat in the night.
Running from a dreamscape.
To escape.
But still commemorate thought.
Making the real.
Less.
Than..
...
I step on forgotten land mines.
In my mind.
Creating a backdraft of emotion.
Spent years putting out these flames.
And even longer letting the brush burn.
Is control then the illusion.
Or am I just.
Constantly.
Waking.

I choose detachment;
Excitement brings more distress,
It never brings peace.