melancholera

Behind closed doors in the silence of my room.
I sit locked in a quiet desperation.
I am continuously flipping the pillow over onto its cold side.
Only thing that matches my innermost feeling
is the grey sky painted on the window outside.
I draw the blinds closed
try to escape
there is no avoiding this.
The sun plays an elusive foe
trapped in the wrong mood.
Extract
the most vanilla of feelings,
a matter of indifference
no matter of dealing.
I know nothing is wrong and yet nothing is right,
stuck between solutions.
I want to surrender and yet still fight.
Give in to the most noble of ideas
self preservation.
Every time I do it leads
to self degradation.
A simple answer
probably would suffice.
Then I would be listening
to my own advice.
That’s a tough pill to swallow.
Look where that’s gotten me so far
stuck in a room flipping pillows
and feeling hollow.