Grace McDonough

April 19, 2000 - Wichita, Kansas
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I am kind of this perpetually tired
Sack of flour
I’ve been staring at the walls for hours
All I am full of is nothing
And it sounds pretty dramatic
But when i’m fulfilled, there’s no room for sadness
There’s no madness
I feel fine (if fine is the absence of anything)
I feel tired
All the time
I’m never sure what to make of times like these
Am I crashing from the caffeine?
This lack of feeling turns me into darkness
I couldn’t face another human being right now
I’d be exhausted
Apathy is the thing i’m avoiding everyday and every night
Since i learned how to write
Apathy is a man’s plight
Apathy is where they go at night
When you leave me here
I can’t articulate
What i want you to hear
Just know on some days i would kill to care
I’d love to feel
I want us all to be there
A red hot drum beat
A bleeding snare
I’ll touch you where you’ll feel it
Here are our tears -- which one of us means it?
I hadn’t cried in months but
You still haven’t opened me up as much
As i desperately want
I’m signing off
My resignation might make you soft

Apathy is ruling me
Yours and mine just intertwined
Apathy won’t let me
Wrap my hands around your spine
Or see my reflection in your eyes.
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