I am tired.
I have grown weary of the daily grind. I don’t mean the work-a-day world, no, the effort of living itself.
What it takes to move, to squelch the voices of negativity. To justify a continuance of life. The reminders of misdeeds and missteps, the inability to emerge from the thick smoke of burning debris of failure.
I am tired.
More difficult than living is providing the illusion of normalcy. The fake face that my job requires, the disingenuous smile that belies a broken and shattered spirit. I cannot always provide what the world likes me to. Pardon me if I do not care.
When you’re tired of running from the pain and torment, it catches up to you and you succumb to its strength.
Today I was swarmed under by weakness and fatigue, with it came a voice of condemnation. Why is it that that voice seems to always be the strongest. The body fails, the mind relinquishes and the end is nearer then ever.
This is when you say that if the death comes for me I will welcome it with open arms and not resist its certain finality.
The Place to be Real 