Dysphoria

Where did I run off to? The skin crawls. The eyes see but do not observe. The ears hear but tune out, as I try to tune in. Here I remember thoughts that once felt like a plague; How can I be a better person today? Whose cup is half empty, aching to run over? Lately, and for an eternity now, I feel the true ailment, The winding spiral of nothingness which touches the very pit of me, from the tip of my head to the bare of my feet, with the tax of a body to drag along. A void i prefer to avoid, but is quite fond of me, embodies me, while everything internally screams a disabling, prolonged clamor of vacancy; extinguishment. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Where did I run off to?