I am tired of proclaiming things.
I am tired of being a hypocrite.
I am tired.
Of me,
of whatever,
whomever
I am right now.

I'm sick of allegories and parables
and I am sick of plain language.
I am sick of myself
and sick to death
and it seems
I have a stomach bug.

I'm stressed out over the simplest things.
"I wonder if the word 'I' appears too much in this piece."
Perhaps the people reading it will connect the dots,
and realize I really am
a pompous ass.

I've gotten to that point;
that point,
the point where depression becomes,
frankly,
too damn depressing,
the entire thing
really isn't fun any more.

I could give you so many colloquial definitions
about being at the bottom of the barrel,
etc. etc. and on again,
but I'll just leave it at
there's not enough beer in my place
to cheer me up
and not enough dishes and food.

I've gotten to that point
where lifting the soap to my body
feels like a chore
when I take a shower.

I am tired
of advice,
of silence,
of up, down, left, and right.

I am tired
of having all the answers,
and I am tired of not knowing anything whatsoever.

I am tired.