exhaustion
as if any of this was
planned
ordained
as if this was
what she wanted all along
every day is tired
in a way she understands
hundred year old trees
can be tired
like the salt in the ocean
is tired
like how the last kiss
before the coffin closes
is tired
she walks when she must
which is far more
than she’d like
because she’s tired
the streets seem perfunctory
there’s a bustle in the sky
in the passersby’s
collective obnoxious breath
she can’t imagine what
could possibly be so important
as to deny the darkness
that they all must see
they must see
because it’s so obvious
it’s all around
it’s in everything
it’s of everything
and even it’s tired
tired in the way the sun
grows wary with each moon
keys fitting in locks
like warm deception
tumblers tumbling
granting admittance
like a benevolent hooded figure
before the gallows
she sacrifices herself
upon the altar of life
every day
and everything’s getting tired
Horror Sleaze Trash 