My sickness

There is a sickening in my stomach, my head and most worst, my heart. There is a deep soaring madness within me. Yet, how small I feel, how dull. I walk pass you as if I am but I am not. A phantom, a figure mute, and I linger. I dream softly of the sun Of the zephyr in the night. My hands, they beckon Yet to no purpose I am here, unmeaning. Strange. And your pursuit, if there be, is lost. Do you know the clawing, the digging out? Each delve I enshroud myself anew, dejected! I want you to know my sadness, dear listener. and YET I do not want you to know my sadness.