torpor

it's the eve of the eve and i have not been a good tender of the muse.
I have left her waiting and willowing and wallowing in
loneliness
and so I become lonely, too.

I am seeking balance
and something from the inside that is a deep exhale for my soul.
I run.
I do.
I busy myself and fill the plate with something after another something.
and I feel lonely
and sometimes angry
and irritable
and I don't know how in the world I will ever feel the fullness of belonging again.

i don't.

and I don't because
I don't nurture it.
I stay hidden.
I stay unavailable.
I stay in pain.
and no one knows.

I am loveable from a distance.

that's how I begin.
when I write, I remember that,
so I don't write anymore.
or sing.
or dance.

and something is dying inside of me.

there is no mystery to this latest version of depression.

i have strangled the muse and shut out all the laughing.


the question is:
how do I come back to life?