The affliction of the mind is truely one of the body.
For I can not eat, I can not move, can not dream.
My joints ache from disuse
Yet I want to hide away from the world
Stretching, bending, dancing
Are things I want to do in theory
but in practice
Lying in bed is easier
How can I force joy into existence?
Or not even joy, but purpose,
Merely something to halt the inertia
I want something beyond sleep and isolation,
Because I know I don't truly crave that
For why would I crave something that would destroy me?
