Half-Time

I have no true feelings in me at the moment, and that’s bothering me. I have no passion for anything as we speak, as I type. I can confidently say that I am dead on the inside; more precisely I am currently comatose. I feel a little bit of ‘love’, a tiny hint of ‘desperation’, some level of ‘melancholy’, a sprinkle of ‘dislike’, the average level of ‘hopelessness’, and your steady dose of ‘happiness’. With this myriad of feelings one must truly be alive you say, I say no. If I am not driven by one more than the others, then I am luck warm, and as mentioned in the good book, I shall be spitted out.