lifeofawillow

if ever they were to ask

me

if i could feel it

too

i would respond succinctly

that i could still feel

you

feel like im dragging my feet

trudging through mud

however elegant the mud may appear..

i must be missing something,

i just dont know what it is.

and i hope im strong enough

too wait this out long enough

to wade ashore

someday.

i think i need an exorcism.

or a lobotomy

or an ending.

it’s a lousy fucking story anyhow.

i wish i had something to write.

some feeling,

a doubt,

a dream,

a pang…

theres nothing though.

nothing at all.

as am i.

nothing.

nothing at all.

empty is as empty does.

there’s so little left

that has anything

of worth

and all that i am

could never be

enough

and that has left me

reeling

retching

and barely reacting

cause after all,

what is the point?

im not sure what to do

with these nights

that turn into

these mornings

that im not sure

what to do with.

its cold

and wet

and im lost

and displaced

and feel

i might never

find

my way.