My limbs are weighted with lead,
and my brain's a stone.
There is no quick fix for this plight.
No magic elixir in pretty glass bottles
or plastic cylinders with printed labels.
Apologies, sleep, spirits, prayers, bandages, regret, and effort
are of no use to me when I am this way.
My heart squirms, anxious and restless in its cage of bone,
yearning to be free but knowing it would dry up on its own.
I wish it would just crawl off and leave me, anyway,
like a glistening slug leaving a shiny, crimson trail.
But it won't. It never does.
No more brow furrows or distant whispers.
Just leave me alone to lie in a twist on my bed
and wait for relief from this indolent misery.
It will come eventually. It always does.
I am sorry.
But I am heavy today.