lost under a sea
of unfocused thoughts
mind-numbing wandering
through disconnected
days of fear and self-loathing
wondering
where it went wrong
where I went wrong
feeling out of place
out of time
out of my mind
like a character
in an unfinished
Beckett play
waiting for something
like life
to begin
unable to go on
with no choice
but to go on
immobile
immovable
immature
with all the courage
of a well-fed
old house cat
wanting to know
how it all ends
when I should be thinking
where to begin
(D James)
disposable poetry 
D, This is excellent. I’m there with you. I’ll be Vladimir to your Estragon. This life is drenched with absurdity but we make it with a little help from our friends…
After reading this poem it reminded me of Claudia Rankine’s book Don’t Let Me Be Lonely. The fascination with the idea of being a spectator in one’s own life, yet also questioning what it even means to be alive is parallel to the very themes she discusses in her book. One of the things in particular, that drew my attention was the emphasis on the idea of autonomy. It is not only that the narrator feels out of place, but they are also out of time. As if their time were controlled by an external figure. This is also seen in the idea of them not having a choice other than to go on. This distinction, between the choices that one makes and our sense of autonomy, as separate things, seems to be what makes the narrator feel out of place.
Thank you for this very detailed comment. It’s a great compliment when somone reads with such depth and to know a chord has been struck. I’ve not heard of the book you mention, but will add it to my reading list.
D. James