Exhaustion (a poem)

Long day…

Tired and down
immersed
in a fairly benign
but nonetheless
unrelenting
hell

I’m wiped out
from pretending
to be well

It’s all swampy lows
and muted highs
this sound echoing
through my mind

Each new round
it gets harder to tell
exactly what kind
of fresh new hell
I chose

That it gets harder
and harder
is all I know

I almost hate
to see it end
I know
it’s going to
come round again

If I’m this tired now
what then?

I don’t want to pretend anymore

(20 August 2018)

 


 

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