Break
Fingers press into closed eyes,
Tired sighs.
I'm exhausted, my complete wits on end,
I can't seem to keep the darkness on the mend.
Did I mentioned how exhausted I am?
Must have, for my life feels like it's going on the upward trend.
Yet I feel so at my wits end.
I want to be social,
but my tired mind is exhausted.
I want to try to write to create some sort of new spin,
some new motivation to keep me from writing 'fin,' 'fin,' 'fin.'
On everything new I write.
I'm in a slump,
so here I sit on my rump,
prepared to be life's biggest grump.
Fuck.
Fucking hell.
I'm deprived.
My hormones must be on the rise.
I want to talk it out,
to keep myself from suffocating from the growing doubt.
I swear, I swear I used to have clout
and now it all feels like I'm drawing from a drought.
Please.
Please save me from this hell.
Why do I feel so unending?
So exhausted?
So incomplete.
So tired.
Surely it can't be all the hormones.
Surely it can't.
I know a lot of it is the bane,
the drain
my mental hell must be insane.
I'm screaming,
probably crying,
pouting,
dragging my feet
knowing my life is nearly incomplete.
One more problem.
One more fall through.
When I finally get things on the up and up,
it seems someone else is coming in for the dump.
Fuck me.
Fucking hell.
I'm so tired.
I'm so tired, it makes my mind swell.
Please.
Please.
Save me from this hell.