The F Word

Sleepless nights make tired words
Nothing signifies
Even the hand
Is reluctant
Is really dead
Wait
Pulling me down

The stairs
Blankly registered
Blue, I turn away
No more, thank you, no more
We have received plenty and will now
Pull the curtains over me

I'm skin and bones
And bruised
I think, ergo
I can't compute
Can only be
Here and now
Though taking roots
Tastes like pulling out

I'm losing it
My voice, my head, my religion
Take your pick
Wrong answers only
But rest assured
Even the scarred
Who are coming apart at the seems
Might still succeed
Because in the end
It's not over
Till the lady sings