Tired

Four in the morning, tired, exhausted,

can’t sleep because I’m living dead.

Life has no purpose, no meaning.

you’re born,

unwilling parasite you survive,

a cog in a machine you never chose to be a part of.

Can’t work, can’t live, too tired to try,

so you sit, you think,

a whole day gone in an eyeblink.

Everyone, everything, a burden on your energy,

forcing you on in codependent synergy.

Medicine, therapy, wasted time, wasted effort,

just a bandage,

on a dead on arrival triage.

No way up,

over,

out.

This poem is about: 
Me

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