I Am Weary

I am weary;

Of the words that stain pages

With tear-splattered ink

As we go through the phases

Of teetering the brink.

I am weary;

Of the countless pretty ways

You spell out your pains

As if discarding the good days

Leaving just broken remains

I am weary;

Of watching plucked petals fall

Victims in that 'love me not' game

Knowing that living and dead flowers all

Smell the very damn same

I am weary;

Of being the nemesis

In my own fucking story

We swing and we miss

But I get the glory

I am weary;

Of sacrifices known

And sacrifices made

Only to be shown

How acceptance of them fade

I am weary;

Of the wounds I cut new

And the vises I claim

Whilst the reprieves are few

And the ache stays the same

I am weary;

Of how you claimed you had more

Than I did, to lose

Yet I was floating before

Now I've lost all my screws

I am weary;

Of feeling so hollow

Despite the headiness I clutch

Of trying—to swallow

Of caring—so much

I am weary;

Of it all.