Tired in a way

Its a creak in my bones that makes me shiver.

How hard it is to get up I think.

Was it always like this.

 

Was the sun always to bright, 

to penetrating in my eyes.

How can I not receive that beauty anymore? 

Was it always like this. 

 

Can I try again to picture that image in my head.

Of the swirls of color and how the clothe swished 

How the girls all stepped in time with the rhythm, 

The stomping, 

the noise. 

Was it always like this. 

 

It cant be explained to me. 

In that white room where I reside, 

with the nice young man,

talking off his head.

Telling me the problems, reasons, solutions and causes.

Was it always like this.

 

I can't hear any of it. 

Only a hum in the back. 

A distant noise. 

A slur, a string, a movement of fog.

Penetrating in me, 

I think it was always like this. 

That I was always tired in this way. 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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