Garbage

Garbage

I’m tired inside my bones.

My cartilage drags down the hallway

as I walk.

I don’t even have the energy to talk.

My marrow screams using a tiny voice

that only my eardrums can hear:

Sleep.

Rest.

Put down all of the baggage.

Toss it into the garbage.

Flush.

Stuff.

Rush it

out of your life.