I’m so lethargic.
The world has used up all my energies and I have nothing left.
I don’t know what to do; I don’t know if I would have the energy to do anything even if I knew what to do.
I have lost all vitality and can no longer feel the spark in me that I once had.
The world is hazy grey and no longer varying in colors, like it used to be.
My lethargy are not sweet and innocent daisies.
But rather, they are withered lotuses symbolic of my lost mental purity.
The soft textures of my sheets cradle me into a deeper sleepiness.
The sun has disappeared and I have learned helplessness.
I no longer crave the warm rays shining on my skin.
The weather outside is a drizzly storm; I stare outside the old window panes blanky.
My walls seem reminiscent of an English seaside home.
All I hear are echoes from the raindrops and the lightning.
My lethargy has left me feeling like an old sheep prepared to fall into one last slumber.
I am not a puppy; neither joy or excitement I bring.
Oh how I long for the tangy taste of citrus to touch my tongue again.
But the flavor of stale coffee stays persistent in my mouth.
I feel like a rocking chair, always moving but never going anywhere.
The smell of homemade cookies are only a fleeting memory.
All I smell now is the seabreeze that enters through the thin walls.
The cloud I am on leaves me suspended in the air, not quite on the ground nor in the sky. My lethargy is Salvador Dali’s Persistence of Memory; time is gone and has melted.
I am surrounded by decay and questioning my own state of being.
Am I rotting because of my surroundings or am I the reason for the decay around me?
I am not the woman from American Gothic, for my artist has chosen for me to be alone. Lemonade is the farthest thing from me.
I do not quench nor do I leave a sour face.
Infact, I don’t leave a face at all.
I am sparkling water turned flat; I have lost my fizzle.
I am a four piece string quartet agonizingly plucking each string.
Lethargy has silenced the mockingbird, no longer do sweet hums conduct through the airways.
My lethargy has left me feeling like an old Irish castle left and forgotten, doomed to disintegrate back into the rocks and merge back into the earth from which I came from.
I am an unlit room devoid of any light. I am not a candle; I’m not equipped to guide or give hope.