Busy days
Long hours,
Closing eyelids,
On the buses.

Drooping eyes,
Sore knees,
Cranky voices,
Like a breeze.

Hard day,
Aching back,
Groans and moans,
Tried to slack.

Need a rest,
Need some time,
Need a home,
Need a more rhymes.

Loudly and constantly it rings,
Drumming through my ears,
Holding me by the throat,
Slashing through my tears,

Morning it awakes me,
yet Night introduces its death,
Waking me up is its job,
Nothing holds its wrath.

Conscience, it always leads me,
Never lets me go,
Tells me all their stories,
And brings me silver and gold.

When I am ill, it cures me,
Stating my medicine and time,
Bugs me every morning,
Sour like a lime.

My heart is the biggest reminder,
Yet it cheats and lies and steals,
It goes away and comes back here,
In pieces, never still.

My heart it keeps on saying,
On and on and on,
That somethings are just not worth it,
Not worth for me to hang on.