Despondency will be the death of me
slowly and into the end.
It’s not freedom though.
Anything for a moment of clarity
I push and pull at memories
and daydreams but don’t have the energy
to keep at it, keep with it
until I can curl up and cry.
Curl up and sleep.
This is my honesty
I offer too much and give too little
in the course of the day
and in the way I move.
I don’t doubt that I am falling
into misery, apathy and continued despondency.
I search, over and over,
flit and fiddle into places
with really fitting in anywhere.
Except with my despondency.