These Days

Idle is my mind these days,
racing but staying still without any thoughts occupied.
Making no attempts to try,
just lying like the dead in their graves.

Aching is my heart these days,
famished for attention and full of resentment.
Sneaking brief sips of affection,
then dying of thirst inside of rejection.

Cold is my body these days,
but sweating beneath my sheets.
Unmoving and unyielding to the clock,
just shivering and feeling its temperature drop.

Unholy is my soul these days,
distant within this place I'm delving.
Possibly trying to return to me,
but receiving only locks on the doors that were once revolving.

Reckless is my sex these days,
still believing it can harvest love.
Given when taken with much effort,
stolen with kisses that deceive and desert.

Shameful are my words these days,
conjured and crafted with intent to sell.
Offered as bait and incentive to buy,
heard as returnable or recycled after they've tried.

Stumbling are my steps these days,
fearful equilibrium steering away from any consistent direction.
Not letting me land in one place for too long,
running from routines and plans that intimidate any kind of commitment.

Wakeful are my nights these days,
staring into feelings too painful to dim.
Stretched like a board and love-labored breathing,
I wonder then remember why I stopped dreaming.