I’m really not sure what this feeling is.
It’s not apathy, there are too many emotions in play.
But too many which leave me completely numb and empty.
Every time I move, it’s a task
Every time I think, well I don’t.
In my fifteen years of experience,
I’ve felt this about half a dozen times.
It angers me.
It angers me to the point were I want to hit something.
But I can’t even lift my arm.
My energy is bled from me with each word I write.
I want to fall asleep, so I think I will.
Besides, it’s the easiest thing to do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
surely is, sleep easiest thing to do. thanks md