Clear-ish thoughts in a dark green car

Eyes turned within to
A heart heavy and despondent

My core,
A vast, dark, tepid pool of black water

Apathy is the name of today.

The world feels like it's unraveling,
Backing us into a corner,
No room, no room, no room at the inn

I write poetry to bring my heart to a slanting sort of truth,
I cannot look directly at my own feelings,
Nor can I tell them directly to others.
When I try,
My thoughts begin organized,
And then I open my mouth
And spin myself in circles.

I was made for telepathy,
But I have yet to find it;
I came before the egg,
I am writing before reading.
I am half of a broken whole.