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Sputter Outlaw Nov 2019

All my life I am tired.

Tired of awaiting the call

tired to wait to be small

Next to another whose tall.

Tired of trying and waiting and doing all my life

in the thrall

of the wait

to challenge the looming debate

and crying my eyes

To sleep.

Too Late.

For time slows to a creep

and winds all my life.

I am tired

and waiting

all my life

to sleep.
Hard day, fearful of tomorrow's own hardship yet optimistic of the future and all it's waiting around. In the meantime I will do.
Tyler Matthew Oct 2019
Hair a mess from what she can tell
in the mirror.
Photographs lying face-flat
in their frames over the mantel
beside the urn.
She gets up, sits down -
"Oh, what's the point?" -
and dials for her sister who has experience in this.
After the grief they share a *** of coffee and make plans to do this again.
OpenWorldView Aug 2019
Pointing out
the truth.
the future.

It's all for naught.
As words spoken
remain unheard.

Ignored you start showing.
Giving all you have.

But again
all is for naught.
As results
remain unseen.

So you keep toiling
silently hidden
unknown unseen
til the end.
Justin Aptaker Aug 2019
i’ve grown weary
of this story
of this frame
oh so weary
of this cosmos
in which I got this name

and I can’t remember why I came

I’m fearful for the leaving
can’t seem to quit the game
oh how I love this loathsome body
I carry with me night and day

and when I look into the mirror
I see a stranger face

sweet solace sought in speaking
my wearisome refrain
no rest foreseen in sleeping
if I must wake again
in lukewarm purgatory
on waves that toss and strain
in sitcoms just repeating
weary lines and jokes again

and again
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
When striving
for joy and happiness
becomes fatigue with stress,
do I need
rest and rejuvenation?
kk Jul 2019
Writing gets hard,
but the sky and the stars tell me
that I am the star even in times
when the rhymes don’t flow that smoothly
and life isn’t a movie.

When I’m at the cliff’s
precipice and my fingers are stiff,
tremors wracking my body
as I struggle to embody
something confident and godly,
it seems so much easier
to burn away than to stay drained.

But prose is my way
of praying,
and even if the deities of my brain
decide I must embrace pain another day,
I take literary measures in an attempt
to stay sane.
Breon Jul 2019
The summer sun's an auger drilling deep
To sap my will and hasten my decline,
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
From when its faintest rays begin to creep
Beyond the long horizon's boundary line,
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep.
When morning comes, I'll buy my living steep,
But living wilts me 'till I can recline
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep
As if I died, as if I'd get to keep
The scrapings that I'd earned, as if they're mine.
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep.
Each moment sowing seeds I'll never reap
Comes twisting down around my brain and spine -
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
All wisdom, wits, and words ring hollow, cheap,
Some wilted offerings at a broken shrine.
The summer sun's an auger, drilling deep,
And by the time night falls, I'll pray for sleep.
Nylee Jul 2019
I am more tired for tomorrow
and it is still morning at the moment
the roses are blooming now
And the home is three hours away
The trains have not been patient
the rush was pushing anyway.

The late hours were not on time
Delayed more minutes
news had updates on all the crimes
And the gossip was juicier today
The work had piled up in the corner
More the files in dark grey.

The formals have been slightly tucked out
The shine of shoes a twinge faded
The future it is all about
Stretching the day to the night
The sofa, the safe haven
A few bites with family.

The exhaustion catches up
and the midnight hunger grumbles
The notifications don't let the sleep top
The yawns are stretched wider
The life of fatigue and endless routine
Tomorrow ain't gonna be any different.
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