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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 06, 2018

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Submitted: August 06, 2018



Exhaustion is such an odd thing.

It comes and it goes, it ebbs and it flows;

yet, it can be dismissed with a small dose.

Going days without sleeping does not matter

to someone without someone.

Going days without weeping does not matter

if those tears have nowhere to fall.

Falling is expected in order to change perspectives -

Know where to fall.

Why scribble marks on thin white sheets

if they make sense to none?

I’ll tighten my grip.

The sheet, it rips, it tears, it swears

that it has a purpose not so foul.

I add it to the pile

next to the empty bottles.

Why does that thing on the wall look at me so?

Those marks, in a circle, chanting around two asymmetrical arms:

“Tick, tick, tick.”

I hear it

and grab another sheet.

Question mark. Period. Apology.

I am feeling numb

and vomit.

I hear it

as my pen drops,

so I fold the paper into the envelope.


Exhaustion is such an odd thing

© Copyright 2019 Sage Williamson. All rights reserved.

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