It has not rained here in weeks
But I am drenched to the bone.
My skeleton is brittle and achy,
Frost settling in beneath my skin.
My fingertips are an icy blue,
Lips drained of color; chapped.
The vibrance of my eyes has faded,
Even in the blistering sunlight.
Every conversation feels forced.
Everything is tainted, contaminated,
By an ever-present, consuming darkness.
My curtains remain drawn shut,
Room filled with useless white noise,
Trying to drown the voices in my head.
They are vicious creatures.
They beckon me with tempting calls.
I sit frozen, staring into the dark,
As I am pulled deeper into the void.
This emptiness is terribly familiar
But I no longer welcome its solace.
I despise this gnawing feeling.
But it is now where I reside.
Yet motivation lingers here,
Buried somewhere in its depth.
I will search blindly for it,
Bloodying fingers, bruising body,
Screaming for it until my voice is raw,
Breaking bones until I hold it once more.
I will pull myself free again;