Not Enough, Life a Limbo

This pain is not enough—I barely feel it.

No pain is too much—-I’m numb.

Mental pain I feel too well,

Pain of my body I cannot tell.

Red lines crisscross my skin—they fade too quickly.

Pain I self-inflict, I barely feel it.

I need something—I don’t know what.

I need more—yet I’m held back.

By what little reason is left in my crazed mind.

I must feel more—I don’t know why.

I want to bleed—the impulse grows.

 

I dream of a life—somehow so real.

I dream of a girl—I feel like I’m her.

I dream of her life—missing it when I wake up.

I yearn for that dream—painful though it is.

I yearn to be her, to join her.

I need to do something, I am not living.

I feel so dead, each day I’m hoping.

Hoping for this life, this life I dream of.

Each day I move through, stuck, helpless.

Each day I cry out, yet no one can hear.

Each day I want out, yet that goal is so far.

Each day I wish, wish to be her.

 

I spend so much time dreaming,

I forget I am here.

The only reminder,

Is the suffering I am numb to,

The struggle I don’t go through,

At least to my warped mind.

 

Am I really alive? What does it even mean?

Why am I never,

Satisfied with life?

Why do I always,

Seem to be yearning,

Dreaming of something,

Thinking of nothing—everything, something,

Wondering what I am,

Wishing I were somebody,

Somebody real.

 

Instead I am no one,

Nothing, not even boredom, no longer.

Everything, no names though.

I just want to be someone,

Feel something of note,

Something I can name,

Have a life not a limbo.

 

I just want something, a life.

I just want to feel alive.

I just want to smile,

I just want to try—not give up or move along.

I want to feel at home,

I want to be in sync with time,

I want to explore life,

I want to know.

 

I’m so confused…

I feel like a bomb with no fuse,

A life with no use—days, weeks, years wasted.

No method to live though,

No wonder I need help.

 

I’m so confused,

I don’t know what I want,

Can’t tell what I thought,

Don’t know how I’ve persisted,

For so many days.

How’ve I existed?

Living life in a haze.

I want to feel pain,

To distract from my other pain.

The burden of my mind,

The distress and unknowing,

The depression and yearning,

The cycle of hurting,

The doubt upon doubt,

“I’m not depressed,”

The truth so alluring,

What’s anything mean?

I can’t keep living,

Just lying and wishing,

Not trying and falling,

Dying and crying.

 

Sighing:

No one to listen, no one to help,

No help in sight, no problem I even know of.

What is life?

If it’s this, it’s not.

 

I can’t think of myself,

I can’t imagine me,

I can’t know what I think,

I am not living.

I may be breathing,

But my body is dead.

I may be thinking,

But it’s all in my head.

I’m only sleeping,

To dream of her again,

To get a break from the dread,

To feel a bit less like lead,

To do what they said.

 

Life is just hell, what do I do?

Everyone’s so calm, do they not feel it?

Why is this real, if it even is.

Why don’t I feel, why do I miss?

Why can’t I live, I need to detach.

I stop feeling, when it’s too much.

I stop living, until it is through.

I retreat to my mind, I relinquish my life.

I want night, alone with my thoughts,

Yet I also want day, distraction from my mind.

 

Longing for a Childhood

I want to be a child again, if I ever was.

I want the childhood I never had,

I want to be curious, learning.

All that I missed out on, what others perhaps take for granted.

I want to be a child, to experience life, innocent.

I want a childhood, not these few sickening memories.

I want to have lived, to have had choice, to have had connection.

I would even take hurt, more than I had, as long as it’s different.

I want to ride the bus each day, not stare at a screen in isolation.

I want to do what I want, without fear.

I want to fail, and learn.

I want to learn, on my own, through practice, through experience.

In truth, it feels I’ve been alive mere months, if at all.

I never had a chance to be a child, to any extent that matters.

Imprisoned, deprived—to my mind, my fault.

I never had an opinion, or never one that overcame the fear of expression—an unfortunate habit

If only I had lived, but I have to make do now.

I want to relive, as a child.

 

I know nothing, question everything, with this corruption.

 

Robotic No-Life

I am a machine, doing tasks, chores, what I am told.

Or I am a loser, procrastination and doomscrolling.

I do not speak, just nod and listen.

Or I advocate, get faulted, somehow.

Sometimes I don’t know what I am, but a machine with the heart of a girl,

A heart hidden so deep,

In a dark corner of her mind,

Forgotten but to her subconscious.

I am a machine that yearns to live.

 

Just… Let Me Have This, Please?

I can’t have anything, can I?

Not a childhood, not friends.

Nothing lasting, no one worth knowing.

And perhaps worst of all?

No knowledge, no skill.

Not knowing it’s okay, to want things.

To have things, to have an opinion,

To have a voice, to use it.

And now this, taken away from me.

It doesn’t matter to me that it’s “for the better,”

That I can see the harm.

I just want something.

 

No One, But Me

No one to talk to about this, I can’t.

No one, no one but me.

And even the thought of that gives me confusion and yearning, all that I missed out on.

Daydreaming and coping, living and breathing.

I was not a human, but a machine.

And now, trust fails, I distance.

No one to talk to, no one to listen.

No one, and it’s killing me.

 

Slipping and Falling

I feel myself slipping,

Falling towards failure,

Showing signs of disgrace,

Doing what I told myself I’d never.