Seasonal Depression

I don't really feel anything at all.
My body has been hollowed out...
Like those cheap chocolates from the 99.
My organs have been stolen
And buried in an unmarked graveyard,
Peed on by every sneaker and boot in sight.
Every stomp, spit and kick stain on my remains.
I can see up their legs and into their nostrils as I spread around in the soil.
I live in the dirt and I'm a light figure
Shifting around the world...
Doing life.
My grief hangs low by my eyelids
As I shift through the meaningless blurry images
Called life.
My blinks are slow flashes...
None of this really matters.
I'm not missing anything.
And my lips perch like a crinkly, old towel.
At the crack of dawn, the sun beams
Black and white across a caw-ridden sky,
And I feel so empty.
The wind could snatch my body up and
Carry me across any river or mountain for miles.
A tour of easy-to-Google-search images.

She snatched my heart out of my chest and
Ate it right in front of me.
My soul was wrenched out of my body.
I could feel the strings tied to the afterlife and my soul disconnecting.
I'm nobody–
I'm nothing but slabby, skin flesh,
And well-stacked bones...
To keep me standing.
My shoes–like 10 Ib weights–
Thud from left to right as I sway to keep my body warm.
I can feel the wind dancing around in my mini globe eyes.
Free of water and life, the wind can harvest inside of me
And grow tornados through my looking glasses.
I could feel a slither of wind rush down my back and into my bones.
My stomach–strumming like a breeze thru a marsh,
Creating waves throughout its body.
I could see nothing but black and white,
And, in this weather, a dancing spirit would possess my body.
It would shake me out of a madness and into
Another. I adapt to this feeling.
The maggots linger in a place where my heart belongs,
And they're now gnawing away at my brain.
The invisible juices squelch out of my ear and down my shoulder
And the exhaust gushes from my stale, crisp lips.
My mind is like a blank slate...
I imagine if the last few minutes of life feel like this.
Does any of this really matter in the end?

The key of warmth and life could unlock the aching feeling in my soul
As the maggots grow wings and escape my hollow corpse.
As my body graduates decomposition, I feel in my
Molded and carved bones that I'm alone again.
I'm nothing but a structure of abandoned particles
That could be easily crushed by the heavy winds of life.
I lie still as my structure slides down a brick wall
And onto frostbitten concrete. My structure explodes into a
Thousand tiny particles and is swept away by the whirls of life.
They swirl in the breezes, in desperate search of my abused remains,
And eventually align in time for spring.