Stormy Shoals: A Poetry Collection

Full Circle

I'm at the point when

I feel like there's nothing to do online.

Nothing to do in the real world.

I don't wanna do anything.

I walk from room to empty room,

flicking lights on and off,

straightening pillows,

thinking,

deciding to write,

realizing that I've lost interest in a lot of activities --

another thing on the depression form

I failed to answer correctly.

Which brings me back to my cutting,

restricting my food intake,

and how I didn't fill in those bubbles either.

Which brings me back to that night this summer

when I was still part of a we,

chasing bubbles in the setting sun,

laughing and writing and maybe manic.

Which brings me back to my sitting down and writing,

writing when I was creative,

writing when I still had good words left in me,

writing when I still had someone to write for.

And now I'm back to not wanting to do anything.

Anything but take some pills and sink into the great beyond.