The Aspiring Archivist

It's a fight, late at night,

hoping energy ignites.

Hope to emerge into light

with my work done overnight.

I just want to disappear,

I don't want to have to hear

the deadlines growing ever near.

My dead eyes losing image clear.

I cannot know what all I said

when darkest fog was in my head.

Now my confidence is dead,

so I lay frozen in my bed.

See, I don't fear the lightless dark,

I fear the darkness in my heart.

I might just need a running start,

maybe to write down my first mark.

With my own mind I start to plead,

my full attention never freed.

I can't be sure what help I need,

but soon my heart will start to bleed.

I feel lost so now I'm calling,

but will that ever stop the falling?

The growing apathy is mauling,

my mental health begins its stalling.

Please, I cannot understand

how I lost what I had planned,

how I lost all my command,

and why I wish this ship unmanned.

Something's wrong with me, I know it,

but somehow I have to show it.

I could write it with my prose,

or I could say it as a poet.