This is me.

A poem I had to get out of of my head

I am in a state of

swimming in my own head

My brain engulfed in a

bog of dark purple

Everything I touch turning into clouds

The sounds producing a constant echo in my head

My mind, a singular note focused on the words she says

like my eyes at a speck on the wall

The pen knows what I am going to say

My feet away from the ground.

My tongue swollen up for want of water 

The smell of fresh fabric wafts to my nose

I am alone, I am not alone

A room of many people, no words, just an echo.

Sped up, slow down, constantly in a state of delay. 

The past and future do not exist, and neither does the now. 

My mind now contains nothingness, 

But I am located in the present that becomes past every second. 

Is this what it likes to finally feel happy?