Down in the Dumps
Here I am again, in a place
I know all too well.
Down in the dumps.
Awake, fighting sleep.
Unable to do anything.
Feeling unworthy of even the warmth of food.
Too awkward to reach out.
Too absent to step into a room.
Too hollowed to hold another person's warmth.
Too frozen to let anyone in.
And all I can do is repeat a mantra
that tears apart my wings:
I was never good enough.
Perhaps it was better
if I had not existed.
Tired I am. Of living sometimes.
Wishing to disappear
not loudly,
just the way dead autumn leaves do,
carried off without ceremony.
A.V
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