Sanctuary [Poetry]

xviii

I'm always in this pace.
Undeniably,
has been always the case.
For the following years,
and months,
and days,
I find myself here—

stuck from
where I've always been,
in the dark,
in the pit hole,
blackest you've ever seen.

Unmotivated and
apathetic,
uninterested,
and weak.
Been going on for awhile,
on and off
like a switch,
my mood is
always on the hitch.

I cut myself once,
twice,
thrice,
a lot of times.
I can feel that little pain.
Sometimes, that blood
that slowly paint
the skin.
And still say I'm fine.
I couldn't figure out
what's wrong.

I can only tell you
one thing
which is everything—

I am but an empty canvass.

12Aug2019/0823