On Hold

A hollow drum, 

An empty shell, 

A chilly, numbing kind of hell

Where a shapeless nothing has come to dwell.

Lost the will to move or think,

And here suspended,

I feel myself sink

And realise that I teeter on the brink 

Of a gulf before which I cringe and shrink.

Deaf to ambition's strident call;

Lost to friends and family who scold and warn,

Far from feeling lonely and forlorn, 

I find I don't feel anything at all.

And from the depths of this new low,

I wonder how much further this will go.

There couldn't possibly be more below;

Nothing worse could ever follow.

If this is rock bottom,

Then surely, I soon will rise.

But if not, then what unsavoury surprise

Lays hidden past the scope of my eyes?

For now, I confess I'd rather not be told.

I wanna let it go and wait for things to unfold.

Just turn off the lights and get into bed;

Pull the covers over my head.

At this moment, I prefer not to know.

Good night world. We'll pick things up tomorrow.