Fight On

The truth is, I long for apathy. For true depression
To creep up and seal me deep inside a thick layer of ice.

To be utterly encased and cold and deadened,

Unthawed to the very center of my being.

Sadness is too sharp; this pain is killing me slowly.

And maybe I’m giving up at last. For what I would

Not give just to stop feeling for an instant. I’m sick

Of fighting myself... Maybe that’s cowardly of me.

Maybe that’s the only way to win.