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

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