Dead Inside

If I don’t tell anybody how horrible I feel, they won’t
get angry, they won’t blame me, nobody will know
how impossible I find it to read meaningless words
I should complete the job without bothering any-
one with my thoughts and I will get the job
done – right?

Wrong, I cannot go on, my quiet rebellion makes
me ill, I’ve got to proclaim this: It is IMPOSSIBLE
to work while I am falling through a bottomless
hole with no end, no goal, no joy, no happiness
I cannot recall a single story or fairy tale
for inspiration

The harder I try, the deeper I sink, it is a quagmire
of empty attempts to survive things I don’t under-
stand, I cannot force the pain down, sitting like a
frozen robot, making Marvin, the paranoid android
seem like a happy clown in comparison, I need to
shout my lament

Only after giving vent to the bewilderment driving me
mad, I shall try again to hide my suffering: If it is true
we create the circumstances of our lives ourselves,
why did I choose to torture myself with a black hole
in my head that never allows any intelligence to
escape, feeling guilty

About liking the wrong things, I gave them up, no more
fun books, no more fantasies, thinking it would force me
to do my official work well – now I cannot do anything,
even fun things are too difficult, I cannot do what I dis-
like nor reach for forbidden delights since they are
gone – I can do NOTHING –

Surely this is perfect preparation for death; I used to
live like this when I was small, without hope, ready
to give up life because duty was instilled into me,
life has come full circle, I am as dead inside as
I used to be as a child…