morpheus bleeding

tired and tried
are essentially the same
it just takes
reverse
alphabetical order
for the finality
to settle in

anxious and agitated
hoping for a
deflection of rejection
yet the shattered hope churns
my guts to ribbons
and my head pounds
in step with cardiac duress

i remind myself
not to make
mountains of molehills
yet the closer
i seem to get
the farther away
the summit lies

maybe the moles
are irradiated
meaning when they
coined the phrase
madame curie hadnt yet
succumbed to the thing
that earned her fame

great monstrous beasts
blind scurrying giants
displacing soil
as they remake the horizon
blotting out
the bastard glaring sun
as i stand in the shadows

i am so very fucking tired
life has been challenging
this performance piece of
bashing my head off of walls
crying with a crimson mask
yet never bleeding enough
to satiate the masses

it doesnt feel as if
sleep is coming anytime soon
i watch as the moles
burrow across the ceiling
and i mutter my love
into the pillow
where it goes ignored

i tried to sleep
but was too tired to find it
surgically altering words
in the idiotic hope
it lulls me to morpheus
though i fear
i have bled him dry

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