Barely a Breath

Sulking in my own misfortune, I can manage barely a breath
Head buried below a pillow in this cold, dark place I call home
A blanket half wrapped around a naked leg, the other half falling to the ground
Light peers through the shades and blinds my eyes when I force myself to look about
The laughter of children, the smell of freshly cut grass, spring greets those who let it in

Discovering more and more things to hate each morning I wake
Finding fewer and fewer reasons to open my front door, to step outside 
A single desire to remain alone until the sun is finished with this day
Competing voices and irritating distractions having long ago deserted me
Having long since forgotten what it is like to want anything more

Counting the threads on the carpet, listening to the constant intervals of a dripping faucet
Following the cracks on my bedroom wall with my restless eyes, anything to pass the time 
The grayness of today, how sheer boredom displaces everything else 
If it weren’t for this intrusive anger how I’d feel nothing at all
The sheer fatigue i feel by doing absolutely nothing

Tormented by thoughts of a previous time, a time lost to me forever
Images of a mistreated life rip through my beaten mind, reminding me, making me furious
Anger erodes the memories of all that I once found to be sacred
If it weren’t for these ever-present frustrations how deprived of emotion I might be
Outside of this resentment, all else is mundane; understanding this anguish is what provides balance

An imposter, doomed to impersonate a person I no longer am
Uncovering frauds, lies, and fewer truths than I ever deemed possible
Hatred gnaws at my core until bitter rage fills me whole 
Numb I remain to any other passing emotion; boredom and anger are all I know
Emotionally incapacitated to the point of exhaustion, I can manage barely a breath

This poem is about the depths that you can be driven to by depression. This is a difficult read for me even today as I remember how I felt when I wrote this poem. The speaker here is so down on life that he can barely manage to breathe. Despite it being an absolutely beautiful spring afternoon, the speaker is unable to enjoy it. He is so miserable, he can't even get out of bed. The emotions known to him are anger, sadness, and fear. He's hopeless. He's scared. He finds life so unbearable that he seems to have given up his will to live.

Written in 2008

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser