Too Much

There is just

too much

clinging to me,

still.

-

A thousand chains

tied to each leg,

the light force of gravity,

so heavy, on my head.

-

This week has been six months.

-

I woke up

eighteen times today, and still

longed for my bed.

-

Just an extra

five minutes,

-

please.

-

I schedule out,

pre-prepare and plan

the perfect day.

An absolute ideal,

but in practice

it all falls apart.

-

The debris of my vanishing future

choke my present lungs

and infinite shreds of their acute remains

block my throat in full.

-

The stench of it rotting

stops me from moving

or ever really

trying again.

-

Tomorrow is a black cloud,

and today’s already grey enough.