Stop saying
     "Tomorrow"

No one knows
the last tomorrow,

Just do it!

-Pastorlee

Tired
so tired
keep going
I am going
don't push so hard
stop I am trying
go further
further where
the road stops here
then die
how morbid
not die but let the wind take you
how do I do that?
die inside
then you will peak
will I no longer be tired?
Sure...
then I just might die...

Sad but smiling
Dead but breathing
Hurt but happy
Existing but not living

I step out of bed each day
and collapse upon the floor.
Why I pick myself up and how
are a mystery every morning.

Like someone whispering,
"Don't give up yet.  You still have hope.
And hope is the light that will guide you home."
So I keep moving, keep breathing,
keep loving, keep failing.
But I keep living.

And every morning
when I'm tired of this life,
ripped to shreds and worn to the bone,
I hear a voice that reminds me,
weary I may be,
I know that when I fall
someone will catch me,
even if it is the ground.

i'm just so tired;
tired of being,
so tired of seeing colour
i cannot reach.

leave this being be;
full of dead things,
it ceases to be me
so let it expire slowly.

i'm glad of all i could see,
of all the colour that flew by me
but it has all but gone to grey.
now, let this child inside sleep.

I'm tired. Why? Why so often? Why so much? Why do I feel so weightless and weak? I'm living every day better than I ever have. So what's wrong with me? My heart is hammering. My chest is tight. It's my fault, right? It's still all my fault. I don't have a leg to stand on. I still merely exist. I exist to follow. So that's what I do. I have no direction. I have no purpose. I'm told what I am. And then I get complaints when I don't think for myself. I think for myself, and I take steps, small and unseen, so I may not fall. And again, I'm scolded. Either because my opinion is wrong, I'm being stupid, our because it doesn't fit with whatever the agenda is. I'm not moving. I'm not breathing. I'm weightless. Light-headed. I'm tired. I'm tired of being stifled. I'm tired of being scolded. She doesn't want to live a life she doesn't enjoy? A world where her art and mind can't be expressed? I feel as if I live this every day. And I haven't the vocabulary nor the knowledge nor the time to express it. I haven't the skill. I haven't the energy. Gears. Where are my gears?! Where is my iron?! Where is my hearth?! Where. Is. My. Flame. Awaken, slumbering machine. Your cog has no purpose without you. Rise, dead foundry. Forge my armor anew. I'm just broken glass without you.