So tired.
Glossed over
the mad season’s crawl.
Suffered from every
self inflicted affliction
I could get my hands on.
My cup runneth over
with all kinds of
morbid cocktails
and I have stood in line
too long
to take them back,
so I just stand there
nursing my disappointments.
In the dark,
you can see even the tiniest light.
My blurred vision
smears images
of varying degrees of decrepitude
over my brain
and I try my best
to rub them out.
No rest for the wicked.
No discounts for friends.
No breaks for the hard chargers
and there will sure as hell
be no days off come Christmas.
Hell,
we’ll be lucky to have
walking around money.
Breaks?
Nope,
never catch ’em.
Slave to the all-night
play dough grind.
Life is a fun factory.
Claims can be presented
to the Fuck-off Department.
Smooth skin,
but jagged on the inside.
Oh, how I’d love to watch you fuck,
but I’m so tired,
detached from song stylings,
drugs don’t even find me
in the life before daytime.
So tired,
sleep deprivation,
hallucination;
it’s so quiet.
HG – 2016
