exhausted

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04/11/2025


"she is above, all else, tired; she wants more than anything to return to her bed and her book. The world, This world, feels suddenly stunned and stunted, far from everything."

I just slept through the staccato of the rain.

And when I woke up, I'm not at home.

I don't have a home.

My body aches.

What's real? What isn't?

I'd go for a whole month of hibernation, why can't I be a black bear? Maybe even hibernation for a year?

I can't witness the world go on if I keep my eyes shut.

I won't feel the emptiness, loneliness of being left behind, if I am already gone.

Right?

My friend told me, I'm too exhausted, to slow down.

I cried myself to sleep. I'm convinced I never got out of that bed. The dreamless state of despondency. I left myself there, in those sheets, in her bed sheets.

Even when I'm pretending, I haven't lost the most beautiful person that life has ever given to me, and again I'll cry myself to sleep.  Maybe I'll stare at the ceiling, smile. Laugh.

No one is here.

My spine collapsed into the mattress, my legs paralyzed by all of the sadness. 

My veins are ice cold with mood stabilizers and caffeine. 

My heart with all the sharpest shards, even all of me believes, maybe my friend is right.

I am exhausted but I am even more tired in this bed of satin red roses. 


x

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