Tired

The eyes grow weak
And burn at the crease,
For they have dried
And it's time for ease.
Somber hiccups
Clenched at the sweater cuffs,
Were ready to drench
But somehow calm grew tough.
This goo within pores
Has become too thick
And it's time to wipe clean
Of what I've learned to pick.
My skin unveils blemishes
And routes to a herse
From my nail slivers
In a world without verse.
It keeps repeating
The same drum tone
As If my shoulder hump
Is a beat resurrecting a home.
Those dead are dry;
The ounces left are barely enough,
But it's what was ordered
And I've got to smooth the rough.
The leaves are buried
And I see no green to escape,
Only the cripple in my heart
And nothing left on my plate.
There's more to this breakdown,
More to this rain on my windshield,
And less of all those poisons
Giving me reason to void them.
All I have is the breath in me,
The one born I can trust,
The one alive and robust
The only one who can thrust or bust.