Wroth with self-loathing,
A wanton habit,
Willingly would I shed.
Spectres of bygone days
Relentlessly fall as a deluge.
Pathos overwhelms my prone, recumbent form.
Sleep beckons, taunting,
Pulling at already leaden lids.
Tranquility confounds,
The need to be consumed...
oh--lethargy
Oh--bliss
Couldn't you find a much better timing than this?
March 10/08
Author notes
Just really tired of being tired
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