Every day as I drag this body out of bed
It speaks in ways I cannot comprehend.
“Tired.” It says but its eyes are awake
With a defeated look it closes them again.

Its weight on my back tires me enough
To sit at intervals, places smooth or rough.
Sometimes as I get back on my feet again
It pulls me back sharply, darkening my brain.

Somehow once again, I know I’ll adapt
To this routine of falling and getting back.
Through these days there’s something to gain,
The truth in its eyes when I see in reflection, its face.