The sky is grey and empty.
I pull on sweaters,
zip jackets,
tug at hoods,
layer after layer
to stay warm.
          I’ve always been pale,
          but I never looked this sick.
The coffee pot stays on
all day, and I still yawn
every few minutes,
crawl into bed, try to sleep.
          People call, but I don’t go out.
          Mail comes, but I don’t open it.
          Life happens, but I don’t live it.
I stopped reading the paper last week.
          Nothing changes. 

(Source: inchesgiven)