Already Gone

I woke up feeling less than yesterday.

Staring up at my textured ceiling unable to grasp onto a single thought. Simply because my thoughts are fleeting not lingering around long enough for me to realize they are there. I feel abandoned by my own ideas.

My creativity limited to writing about my depression. And still I find no solace no relief. The space between my eyes and the back of my skull feels hollow. I am unable to tap into my imagination. I can only visualize what I am actually seeing in front of me.

My thumb tapping on the letters forming these words from the immediate onset of despair. The multiple cracks in the display that obstruct my view.

I know where I am and I hate it here.

But there is nowhere I’d rather be. I feel like I’m dying inside and my home is my tomb. I feel like I am a ghost haunting my still living, still breathing self. I have died already. I feel as though what is left is an empty shell of a man that wanders aimlessly through tiny thoughts. Wondering why emptiness hurts and tears don’t flow.

I have cried my soul empty.

I have bled my heart dry.

I am avoiding what’s left of me.