She wears tired like some kind of thick syrup that pours down her soul
looking for a place to lay it down she stares at the queen size bed she shares
with her thoughts.
Crawling between the cool crisp material she wedges her body between day
and night trying to disconnect from it all
It's there always; the inner voice that drives her on.
Tonight is just a differnt kind of weary. She is poured out for the ones
who need refreshing.
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