In this poem I tried to take the perspective of an old friend, who had been struck by a severe burn-out.

The way

That which cannot be named,
lives inside my stomach.

It can rise upward,
into my chest,
penetrate my heart,
clamp my throat.

It can grow tentacles,
into my arms,
into my legs,
into my feet as well.

It will shake my body,
or freeze it. It will
make me stammer,
or make me mute.

No longer able to face the world,
no longer able to look inside,
no longer able to think,
no longer able to laugh,
no longer able to be.

They say: it's a part of life.
They say: you have to go through it.
They say: there is no other way.

I say: why me?
I say: why punish me like this?
I say: this is hell,
this is unbearable,
there is no way.