I wrote this poem in 2004. It might be worth noting that this was before my first major depressive episode.
What do I have to do
to get my own attention?
The world invades
all confusing and vital
so that I wish I could slip
into sweet unconsciousness.
Even in my sleep the wheel grinds
and my dreams are filled with plans and papers
rubbed out and scribbled
with complex formulae in the margins.
I see more when I close my eyes
Hear more in the pressing silence
Feel more out of my numb body
and surely, following this strange logic
I might truly think
If I were out of my mind.