it feels impossible
to do more than this.
the energy has dissipated,
music fading from the
speakers until the low hum
is empty static that sits
and waits for my demise.
i can't remember how many
days it's been since i washed
the soot from my mind;
usually, the heat is welcoming,
but with the burning
comes a remembering
that is far more uncomfortable
than dirty laundry and
unsanctioned skin.
you should know better
before calling me a
wasted space.
i want more than this, i really do,
but how can i move forward
when all the tires are flat,
sleet covers every path,
and safety is a concept
i have to bargain for?
i'm tired of explaining.
i'm tired of you rearranging.
you can't change the
outcome by adding fuel,
by telling me to try
a little harder.
i've grown toxic from the
onslaught of fumes,
from fixing faulty gauges,
from cracked knuckles
and distant sirens.
so please,
don't blame me for
wanting to stay stuck.
