there is a tired
that graces this earth,
that cannot be helped by sleep,
or cured by medicine.
it is a tired
that reaches in through your eyes,
and manifests in your blood.
it captures your bones,
and illuminates your lungs.
it works it's way into your brain,
feasting on what makes you smile,
what makes you laugh,
what makes you happy,
until there in nothing left,
but an old corpse
and a rotting skeleton,
that only ever wanted
their peace back.
YOU ARE READING
『ɴᴇғᴇʟɪʙᴀᴛᴀ』
Poetry˗ˏˋ nefelibata ˊˎ˗ (n.) ❝cloud walker; one who lives in the clouds of their own imagination or dreams, or one who does not obey the conventions of society, literature, or art❞ ❀poetry by the author (that isn't really poetry)
