The Question All Too Often Asked

How do I feel, you ask?
Well I'm at a lost for words,
which isn't rare.
When do I ever truly speak,
at least when am I heard?
How do I describe this feeling,
this feeling all too often felt?
Stale?
Like a once loved garlic bread stick
now hard and cold on the counter,
for days left unnoticed.
Bland?
Like Dominos' old pizza
with the cardboard crust;
surely the box would have been better,
flavored by the grease absorbed from the pizza.
Stagnant?
Like a mosquito infested puddle,
truly just a stick in the mud
unable to move.
Nothing?
Like staring at a wall for hours,
not a thought crosses the cerebral cortex.
Maybe just a touch of hopelessness.
Longing to start a life changing project
or just something important.
But even the smallest tasks seem worthless,
useless,
utterly pointless.
Nothing is going to change.
I will never amount to anything,
never be important.
Just a filler,
a confidence boost,
a fleeting memory at most for others' lives.
Emotions flood my mind;
but I am unfazed.
Which one should I choose.
No words escape with my breath.
Come to think of it I'm hardly breathing,
but that's alright.

How do I feel, you asked.
I'm perfectly fine,
just a little tired.