Running On

I have no more to say than "I am sad"
My tongue and fingers both are useless now.
The apparatus that I thought I had
For processing are failing me - and how.
With every line I try to write, each word
Feels so inadequate, and cannot make
A satisfying whole. I can't be heard
When I am silent, but my voice will break
If I speak out. Besides I cannot speak
Have nothing that can be sufficient, or
Failing that, be anything but weak
Half-formed, unprocessed, merely partial, poor.
I'm sorry, and I'm emptied by the sorrow
Maybe I'll find something to say tomorrow.