PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I'm sick and tired

of being so sick and tired.

Every day goes by,

another part becomes mired.



I'm at such a loss

at how to feel good.

It ought to be natural...

at least, it should.



This life is tainted

by sickness...disease.

That run amuck inside

and do as they please.



There's no foretelling

what the next day shall hold.

Each one is painful,

so exhausting and cold.



Where do you run

and where can you turn?

When there's only dead ends,

though open roads, you yearn.



And where is that place,

they claim just beyond today?

That tomorrow that promises,

no more utter dismay?



I've looked far and wide,

across horizon's, dim.

Its just never there,

when chances are slim.



I fought and I've struggled,

with positive thought.

But alas, they are lies

and always for naught.



I never asked for, nor prayed,

for any guarantees.

But only for hope,

and a little ease.



How do you play

a game you can't win?

How do you keep trying,

when you only want to give in?



Its futile, its fruitless,

there's no such thing as dreams.

Not when you can't sleep

for fear of the screams.



They taunt you awake,

as your cries pierce the slumber.

You can't fight them off,

they're too many, they outnumber.



So woe is this life

and woe this pittiful soul.

I'm just so sick and tired

of having none of the control.