I planned to go.
I woke up in the black and white night.
Twice.
The next time I awoke, there was color in the sky.
I sat.
On E.
Constantly.
Trying to get myself going.
Convincing myself not to let the discouragement win.
I really think I need to get away.
See people from another point of view.
My heart is hollow.
Sounds of pain bounces around the crevices.
My heart?
Is full of nothing.
Isn't that the same as emptiness.
Is that the pessimist question?
Is your heart full of nothing or empty?
I don't feel broken or bent or missing.
I just feel hollow.
YOU ARE READING
Finding Joy
PoetryI never spent time seeking joy. I only spent time making a bed comfortable enough in sadness to bare it. Now, I'll see and work at finding joy. This is a continuation of "We Are the Normal Ones: Memoirs of a Fallen Human".
