I got so down I could not muster any movement of my lips,
nothing to show you that I was still me,
that there were fragments left of satisfaction,
of bliss,
of things other than melancholy
I think you liked me here,
caged a bit,
so you could call the shots,
so you could see me for who I really am,
raw,
relinquishing,
a bit of a pushover,
to say the least,
But I did not know why,
I really did not,
I was looking for better reasons for stagnancy,
good copy on why I felt the need to stare ahead,
but do nothing about any of this,
Grief was debilitating,
that was what they had said,
time and again,
but I disagreed,
it was not debilitating,
it was selfish,
and a villain in its own right,
probably because it didn't know any better,
and there was an easiness to malice
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