I am tired.

Tired of holding my tongue

at the thoughts

my mind shouts.

What do I want to do?

Who do I want to be?

How will I make money?

I do not know.

And I am tired.

Two phrases that have

shredded my

happiness

into

mangled

pieces

of

stripped

leather.

Dry,

wrinkled,

cracked

and at a point 

that is beyond

stretching.

I am sad because

I have let people down.

I have let people rule my actions.

My fear of making 

the wrong choice

has lead me

to not only

block out

the light

but

hide

in shadows of

yesterday.

I do not know.

I have not since..

I cannot remember,

perhaps

when 

I thought

life

was 

real

and

dreams

were

not.

It makes no sense,

or at least to my 

gaurded mind.

The strive for money and

material

things.

Yet I do it.

I play a stupid game

I follow a certain crowd

and I speak a certain

way.

I am what I am not,

for the world is shady

and everything has a shadow.

I am not tired of the sun

that guides my day

nor the moon that

dances by night.

I do know the feel of cold

slapping at my neck

and of the heat

that betrays

my sweat.

I am not tired

of the books that are

written

or the flowers growing 

tall.

I do know the loveliness of music

that lulls in the summer air,

as well as the 

sweetness of a 

mountain spring.

All of these things

I am, I know,

but I don't 

and they keep

far away

from me.

In dreams I do not sleep

because 

my body escapes me.

She glides

through time

like a slippery snake

on an unwinding road.

She is never eager to 

return to an ignorant era.

Where bones and paint 

are what everyone

wears.

But she does

and when I awake,

I am tired,

and I do not know.