What Am I Doing Here
Copyright 2013 Gordon Kuhn
All Rights Reserved

I cannot seem to write tonight.
No matter what I try to do,
What words come are far and mostly few.
They seem hollow and not to me to be true.
They cannot express what needs to be done,
What needs to be said,
What needs to be read.
And the emptiness is what I dread.
Perhaps because I’m depressed and
Not knowing what to do.
I sit in the back seat of a car
Filled with four traveling in the dark
With laughter surrounding me.
Yet my smile is fake and laughter hollow.
It is only a little past six in the evening.
Dark, I hate the dark, God I hate the dark!
I stare up at a sky not blemished by any star;
And I look out at the bleakness of a winter’s night.
How I hate the feelings that rush;
They, the ones that simply crush.
And wish for my bed so many miles in the past;
The familiar things, familiar faces, voices
What am I doing here?

I’m depressed.
What else can I say?
Oh it didn’t happen without any warning.
The feeling I feel I feel in deep shame
For feeling the feeling all wrapped up in pain
Yet there is no shame in feeling the feeling
Those who do say it is makes it so
Are all just so lame.

I’m in a dark mood,
Feeling trapped,
Out of my element,
Slipping further down the slope,
Staring at the juncture where there is no hope.
And there is no way to explain the place
I find myself within.
I hate the change that time brings.
Decisions made because of this or that.
I speak and no one hears a word!
Choices made are countermanded.
Possibilities are always being disenchanted
By others who fail to search for an answer
And accept the negative head on, first on.

What am I doing here?