Empty. By Joshua Coetzee
And Still
I cannot escape it.
This feeling that clings to my every part.
From the deepest most private
To the superficial expression on my face.
It sticks to me like winter frost on a dull cold morning.
Its presence
Unmistakable
As rust on clean metal.
It is as persistent.
Methodically and slowly infecting my every part.
Devouring me to the last
Is this merely depression that a pill can cure?
Or something more ominous.
Could it be the final collapse of a will and faith
Held so strong for so long
But now on bent knee,
Has Sercombe to the constant
Unrelenting truth of my present.
The fact that it is, in no way, what I would like it to be.
I feel like I am being eaten from the inside.
An old rotting piece of oak
Being digested by termites.
I’m empty
As a bucket bent out of shape and riddled with holes.
Long ago lost its use.
And still
This nameless, faceless, foe
That I have known
For time that seems too long to recall.
Overwhelms me,
Pushing me closer to the edge.
I’m so tiered of pretending that everything is ok,
Every smile is forced.
I gave up so long ago
That I don’t know if I have already been pushed off or not.
Somehow it does feel like falling.
I view the world through eyes covered in a haze of dissolution.
I see-saw between
Brief moments of happiness just to cry
And total loss of myself just to not care.
I don’t remember what up is
Or how I got this far down.
All I want is change that never comes
At least not for me.
I watch others change, grow
And succeed.
All the while I’m drowning in the stagnant waters of myself.
Is this what happens when you give
To those who take with no regard.
Is this what I’m left with
When no one gives back.
Is this me with the damaged mind
Broken spirit.
Who hides behind his anger and hate.
Is this me who is so scared
He wants no one to ever see him
Or how deep the scars run.
And still
I deal with my world and hope I’m not mad.
We all have a world we walk in
That is our own.
The one between our ears.
I see the world I know, alone
And there is no-one else
That sees it or me.
All we want is someone who sees the world we do.
All I want is someone to tell me I’m not mad.
I’m tiered of living in emptiness.
Consumed by self hate and denial.
I deny the fact that I am who I am
Because I hate myself and the waste of space I occupy.
I’m trapped in this cell called the life I have
And I wish to escape.
Joshua Coetzee
* * * * *
Copyright reserved. Please do not reproduce without consent.