Saturday, February 7, 2015

I got you

I am tired of loss. Of feeling the churn in the stomach and the squeeze of the guts. Of the fingers grazing and heads bowing down. Of a similar hole, of lifting a leg then ending up in a messy somersault. 

Scratch that; I am exhausted. Drained, knackered, running out of breath. 

I don't want to do this anymore.