Giving up

I have not given up. 

But my life

Reflects the carcuss of a life 

That was only once lived-

I sit here and think

Or reminisce or imagine or escape but

It only sits here with me, polluting 

My guilt with excuses and 

Insufficient explanations that only half

Account for the state of my mind. 

I still do not know exactly what is wrong.

I feel actually physically nauseas 

Whenever I think about this idea on an empty stomach and I had not realized that until now I’m going to puke.

I have had my first puking fit

In the middle of writing a poem. 

I need to eat, I’m not going to for some time. I do not hate my body or mind or peace or feeling grounded or whole, 

I miss the solace I get from a silence

That only comes when 

My body is too weak to make sounds

And my mind cannot muster 

Up the courage or energy or brava 

To pester me with paranoid delusions

And haphazard conclusions