Poem // Detached

September 9, 2016
©2016 Melissa McLaughlin

What is there to write about?
What is there to say?
My bed and pillows beckon me
to sleep away the day – the night too,
and anything in between.
Is there anything?
It doesn’t matter really.
No t.v. No books. No movies. No art.
No writing. No talking. No family. No friends.
Not the will to live. Nor the will to die.
No thoughts.
Just sit and stare.
Curl up and sleep.
Nothing around me is real.
Everything is smoke. Everything is gone.
I can’t touch. Can’t feel. Can’t focus. Can’t engage.
I try to do something but I just get up and walk away.
Feet shuffle.
I sit.
I stare.
I sleep.
I hope to dream.

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