Malady

I awake knowing there is another day ahead -

My body rebels against my conditioned mind.

I feel my muscles yearning to stretch,

A sigh escapes me as they crumple in surrender:

a soundless defeat.

There is a heaviness in my movement

and a slowness of thought, reminding me of Keats -

this is "a cold numbness", and yes,

my sluggish mind strains, as if

I have absorbed all the hemlock in the world.

But I crawl on, holding back the melancholy

tears that permeate my being.

"What is the matter with me?"

The face in the mirror stares back sullenly, mutely.

My lips stretch out into a plastered smile;

I plod on through the day.

I bite back the savage piques

That prey on my tongue.

They slither away from me on occasion -

Swell my fretfulness to bursting point.

My brain thinks of a million things

And forgets in moments all the important ones;

The futility of the day

Is almost tactile.

I idly seek understanding,

I leisurely pursue patience,

I despair in failing and

Hide my dreary self,

From the world outside,

From myself inside,

I only hope that as I lose myself

There are those who can find me yet