are you okay?

exhaustion sits upon my skin like a wet blanket –

heavy yet discomforting

twisting my stomach into shapes and

churning out nausea,

the kind of nausea that feels like heartbreak –

not break, all shatter

the kind of twisting that feels like spirals –

black holes and hurricanes

the kind of exhaustion that feels like

this –

I swear I’m not tired.

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“Aren’t you tired?”

My eyes flutter,

your lips twinge,

and you frame the question

so pointedly on your lips –

 

“Aren’t you tired?”

 

– you organize my

late nights and

echoing laughs

into the collection of the

tiring,

but you are mistaken.

 

I am tired,

 
I am tired

of the vacancies

I carry,

 

I am tired

of the loneliness in that

closed off room,

 

I am tired

of my mind when

I’m alone,

 

I am far

too tired

to sleep.