Cant seem to find a purpose
Or any sort of motivation
So much needs done
But what do I do?
I continue to do nothing
Telling myself
Itll get done later
But I know
That when later comes
It will still be undone
I need to tidy up
Act like I have my shit together
While my thoughts run rampid
Ever since I started
Writing that damn book
My anxiety and depression
Have gotten so bad
I dont sleep
I barely eat
Work is an escape
But only for a little while
Home isnt where I want to be
Anywhere but there
All these thoughts and feelings
Going a mile a minute
Yet I find myself
Going numb
And feeling nothing
But everything
All at once
Writing is my therapy
But it does me little good
When the thoughts dont cease
If only in my mind
There was nothing
