Thumb thump
Tense. Tired.
Cold blood
swiftly running
to and from
the streets and corners
of my wasted system.
A thousand and one
futile attempts
to sleephood
and one million
sparks of brain matter,
with some harmful,
cardio-effects
culminate to a
desperate wishing
for a piece of peace
in my bones that yelp
of pain and toil.
Tense. Tired.
Invoking narcolepsy
or perhaps
perpetual serenity
in twelve hours
of unconsciousness,
with cries that have names
like “voice” and “song”,
for a chance to breathe
the limitless oxygen
in dreamland
where colors talk
and mountains see.
Tense. Tired
Eyes peering
for a better home,
squeezing out
while
joints shout
in pleasure
at every
push of these thumbs
that say
I’m okay.
