I feel it in my bones.
This deep knowledge that something is wrong with me.
And I think and I think but no thoughts occur.
It's a puzzle with pieces lost in the crevices
Of the cracked linoleum in the bathroom.
What's wrong is nothing, yet everything.
Have I grown or have I lost all feeling?
Even now, my fingers want to stop.
Stop.
I can't keep a train of thought.
I feel my worth is based only in helping,
For I am nothing without it.
I am perpetually tired, tired of trying.
Tired of giving up. Tired of being tired.
What the point is I can't tell,
I'm too stuck.
