Cold fingers touch me like a corpse.
I touch my neck and wonder am I dead?
Simple things gather important weight
poems gather like mobs inside my head.
Torches and pitch forks chase mistakes
bury your past in tomorrow's sorrow.
Calloused hands from the sacred shovel
pay back the cost always due tomorrow.

Heavy is a mind
That is chained to its past

Heavy is a soul
That knows no way forward

Heavy is a spirit
That keeps running around in circles

Heavy are the eyes
That never stopped shedding tears

Heavy are the ears
That remain slaves to your voice

Heavy are the hands
That knows no other feeling but you

Heavy is the heart
That is struggling to forget everything

Heavy is a person
That drags himself down
To memories that will never
Become a reality

Heavy are his dreams
If these dreams can never be
And will only be
The source of his nightmares

Heavy are the arms
That helplessly linger for yours
Constantly waiting for you
Though never to come back

No more
Please?

I've had enough