exhaustion

Standard

the opposite of dynamite
is what I am at night.

creative spices, secreted
through hushed voices
and steady murmurs.

make implosions stop
with every single teardrop,
dropped while I caress you
lying on the bathroom floor.

I am tired of being tired
of not trying hard enough
when solutions keep appearing
and my eyesight blurs, lips concealing
what I meant to say before you left.

 

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