I'm stuck in this muck, leaving me in a funk. Dissociation to the highest, leaving me to the lowest. My room became my tomb, staying in my bed like a vampire hiding from the light, waiting for night. Loosing my soul, its taking a toll. Feeling beyond cold, ready to fold,but waiting to mold.
Loosing my glow, loosing my flow. I am stuck in this muck
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Author:
Kyle (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 19th, 2026 23:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
Offline)
Comments1
This poem sends a clear message of being stuck in a quagmire of habit or routine. It feels sticky. Nicely written
Thanks something like that
You are welcome
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