From 1996. Sitting, trying to wrap words abound the chaos in my head in the midst of a depression cycle, can be an agonizing exercise. Here, I capture the struggle between the urge to write down the emotions and the inability to do so.
As if I never felt this emotion,
This feeling of emptiness, of mindlessness,
I again try to explain, pen on paper,
Why this madness has crept so silently
Upon me again.
I have no strength to fend.
The hurt blends so easily in with my life
And others believe my explanation, my push away.
I fool them again, this them we all speak of, these
People of conscious desire,
of mindless fodder.
Third stanza blues as the thought trails
And the concern for expression fades.
Fallacy, lie, and deception are bread into words.
My ramblings are lie, deceit, carnage.
Selfish, selfless, we are.
“If you give a shit, you’ll go far, boy.”