The lost art of Words.

Tired.

My muscles hurt, 

every single move is as if my insides are getting ripped out,

but no matter how excruciating the pain is I still stand up,

and move on. 

I have to move on, 

I am forced, to move on. 

I think of the night, and how fast will it come. 

to got to sleep, a little bit.

I still have to wait until midnight hits,

I can't go to bed otherwise, 

I have to feel that I'm already falling, to allow myself to fall. 

my hands are trembling, 

shiver is running down my spine,

eyelids closed to half,

eyebags, 

under my green forest eyes,

an unfinished assignment,

I'm expected to do perfectly, 

cause I write so well. 

I try to put some words on the paper, hands try to do it, but my mind is off. 

words don't come,

cant hear no sentences,

so the paper ends up only with a few words on it, 

some pack of random words, sitting next to each other. 

 I don't want to do it.

"you have to"

but I cant do it. 

"you can"

but I want to go. 

"do it, or you cannot go" 

I did enough.

"it's still not enough"

I tried. 

"you can do better"

I can finish tomorrow.

"so you can waste today?"

heard all the responses but got none. 

three words on my tongue,

i. am. tired. 

and that was all.