Do you know tired?
Ever tasted it after a memory slipped like bile up in your throat?
Ever felt it tap you on shoulder and make you crumble?
Hell is the way tired convinces you that you are exhausted with living
When your reflection betrays you and looks like all the THEM that left
and broke you on their way out of the door
It is the miscarriage of love and love's stillbirth
Tired is victim being accused of playing victim
But they don't know tired
They don't hear it no matter how loud it screams
They only recognize it after you're tired enough
to finally leave
"I am a LIFE REPORTER, but for short, you can simply call me a poet."