I want to write a poem
But I can’t sort out my thoughts
Or feelings in a way that will
Flow and satisfy
Today is one such that
My body reflects the lethargy
Present in my mind, the swirling pool
Of emotions caused by nothing
I like to solve Sudokus
Eyes scanning, pen at the ready
Focusing on anything but the problems
That have no answer and no origin
It focuses me, in a way little else can,
A relief from constant introspection
My bad habit in excess
And my savior in uncertainty
it is that time of year again,
the day is almost here –
the one that stained my calendar
and cost me all my years.
the pages turn, the months unfold,
each seeming like the last –
but all are stained by that cursed date,
that makes the present past.
twenty-four pages ripped,
but each feels like the first –
two years, or minutes, I’m unsure,
since the day that my world burst.
two years your head’s been made of stone,
two years my heart has froze –
And still it feels like minutes since
our world was overthrown.