I'm tired.
It's been a long day,
   a long year,
   a long life,
and I'm tired.
The babies cry,
and they're irrational,
so I can provide no comfort.
It hurts when they cry and I can't help.
I never feel like I can help.
I can't sleep, either, but that's not on them.
No, honestly, I could sleep.
I love to sleep.
I'm more concerned, though,
with
with


I don't know where my time goes,
or why I hate all my time.