MIRE

Fallen behind, falling behind
Somehow the world has moved on
I have slipped between the gaps in the moments
Suspended, inert and unfeeling
A mire of my own creation.

Even lethargy has deserted me, 
impatient with my stillness
Listless eyes admit light, but are unseeing
Limbs hang on the chair like wet washing.
Nothing moves me; nothing is me – 

Entropy blooms on me like damp moss
Blood thick and sluggish, no fear besets me
No care stirs my soul 
I am vacant, empty.
I am becalmed, sargassoed in a lagoon of the null.

Without hunger or want, I atrophy –
breaking down. Apathy on a cellular level.
Neurons blink out like 
spent fairy bulbs a week after Christmas.
Where shall I be tomorrow? Only here.


Oblivion of the soft uncomforting chair
Do not look to help me, that time has passed.
Volition is lost, instinct retreated
Even grey looks colourful next to my pallid gaze
Wan, empty, desolate

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