I am tired.
I want to be done with this world.
I barely want to move,
Every thing in me compels me not to.
My entirety just wants rest, to rest in
Nothing.
Do nothing.
Say nothing.
Be nothing,
for now.
When the lights start to slowly brighten,
their dim glow beginning to illuminate,
The blue river finally starts running,
pumping up and down and through and through,
Through caverns and channels and twists and turns
and then coming back home,
Just, to be sent out,
Again.
Even the river is tired.
When the lights are finally lit,
The river steady in its beat,
Two heavy curtains lift to reveal,
An even sadder show.
The lamps behind the curtains are wan, waiting, wanting to burn out,
but
Surviving
with a faint feeble flicker.
Bluish-purple shadows sit heavy like dogs waiting for their masters below the lamps.
Two by two,
like the animals on the ark,
But with less vigor and hope,
My aching, reluctant, sorry bones, muscles and limbs realign themselves
To meet at least the minimum standard of decency.
Talking is straining.
Eye contact is futile.
Movement is,
Impractical.
Why do anything?
Why try?
Every choice I make, is a mistake.
Every mistake I make, excoriates my being.
I’ve been stripped bare, till my soul is showing.
And it’s tired too.
YOU ARE READING
I hate. me.
Poetrya collection of spoken-word poetry that expresses the feelings of self-hatred and the urge to self-harm.
