Tired
Four in the morning, tired, exhausted,
can’t sleep because I’m living dead.
Life has no purpose, no meaning.
you’re born,
unwilling parasite you survive,
a cog in a machine you never chose to be a part of.
Can’t work, can’t live, too tired to try,
so you sit, you think,
a whole day gone in an eyeblink.
Everyone, everything, a burden on your energy,
forcing you on in codependent synergy.
Medicine, therapy, wasted time, wasted effort,
just a bandage,
on a dead on arrival triage.
No way up,
over,
out.
This poem is about:
Me