The next time I trip, let me fall.
I am exhausted.
Let me hit the ground hard.
I daydream of rest.
I need a good jolt to the system.
Let me sleep.
Nothing concrete can't fix.
God, just knock me out.
A good, old pounding from the pavement.
It'll be another marathon effort.
Send me off before I go mad.
So I can chase the moon.
Let me fall into the arms of the forest.
And hunt sleep.
Don't look back, don't come back.
I will find it.
Leave me here, to the shadows.
Sleep.
Let me fall from a mossy cliff
To the end.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Shadowed souls, cursed magic, poetry that tangles itself in your soul and yanks out the ugly darkness from within. Maybe there's something broken in me, but it's in you too.
Ah, also:
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More stories from Silver Daux and writers in Poets and other communities.
Thirty (one) and Neither Flirty nor Thriving.
I'm thirty-one and orbiting the same few mistakes like they're landmarks. London is already awake before I am (or before I've slept) - sirens somewhere far enough to ignore, buses sighing at stops, people moving with purpose I can't quite borrow. I lie there for a bit, tasting last night at the back of my throat, trying to remember if I meant to drink that much or if it just...happened again.
By Stacey Vellaabout 10 hours ago in Psyche
Comments (2)
I can relate to the exhaustion expressed in this piece. And I especially liked the line about hunting sleep in the forest
This felt soooo relatable. Loved it so much!