Let me lie.

Let me lie.

I am too tired to cry.

The strain of living

Is too heavy

A price to pay,

Today.

Even thinking,

Just for a moment,

That those words

Last,

Their weight

Will inter me,

In a slurry

Of self pity.

So I rise,

Lift my bag

Of aching bones

And daily grinds,

That rattle

With fragility.

And walk.

Grumble,

Mumble, talk.

Everyday,

Has become a struggle

To assemble

The where with all

To find myself,

Bring all of me to mind,

And knock me

Into a shape

I can almost recognise.

Sometimes,

On a good day,

Maybe,

There is vague resemblance

To the man I used to be.

When for too long

And all too easily,

But who knew.

Not me.

Not you.