Unfulfillment

Each night I go to sleep unfulfilled

and

Every morning I wake dreaming.

I’ve lost my bone, I don’t know who stole it away,

I stare at the lonely stick dangling before me:

Longing.

For what? For purpose—For meaning.

For a maze to loose my obsession upon.

But a fog surrounds me, choking my vision, by the day it grows

Thicker about my world.

In purgatory there is no pain, no joy.

There is no dusk to dread, no dawn to desire.

No distinction between night and day:

I sleepwalk through it all,

Crying out with helplessness,

Not allowing myself to live.

A haze of the mind this fog,

Suffocating.