Uncertain
I don't know if
I'm anxious
or depressed
or suicidal
or really if I even exist.
All I know is
nothing seems real
and all I can feel
is the absolute lack of feeling.
I can say
I don't hate anything,
but I can say
I don't love anything.
I'm equivalent on everything,
directionless.
Motionless.
One could almost say
dead.
But not quite.
My heart beats.
My lungs breathe.
My mouth talks.
My lips smile.
But inside,
there isn't even a flicker.
Not even a flicker.
This poem is about:
Me