I have nothing left to write or to say;
The days saunter past secluded and dull;
And seasons filter with no fruitful stay,
Covering the wizened mind with a lull.
Love is all duty: all succinct and right,
It is almost clinical and pristine,
Like some haloed saint standing within light;
Who is correct, kind, practical and clean.
Outward, my life gleams and I look the part;
I cast envy. They say, I have it all…
If only they could see the heavy heart
And the scabbed knees after every fall.
I’m tired; seen so much; I have had my run
I’ve paid my dues; I am sated; I’m done.