No Way to Live

I am tired.

Niether exhausted or energized,

Just living the monotony of each day.

I am worn.

Not completely worn down,

But I am noticably faded.

I am dissatisfied.

I am definitely not depressed,

But I find little satisfaction in my daily routine.

This state of inbetween, this fear

of devastation, but lack of motivation

to live purposefully feels almost worse

than if my life was at rock bottom,

because I still have far to fall yet no

fulfillment staying where I am at. 

Everyday is terrifyingly identical, 

much like Sisyphus,

pushing a rock up a hill

only to watch it roll down again. 

When I forget my purpose and origins, 

I fall into this dreaded, condemned cycle,

numb and immune to both pain and joy.

This is no way to live.

This poem is about: 
My community


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