The Spin

The inspiration is burned from me;
I'm bleeding all over the floor.

Always. Back here.
Pretty
Floor.

Heavy, dark, and weary..
The burden tests
In rains of pains
And tinkers...
Tinker
Me shut.

Always looking over my shoulder;
Always waiting for that cut-
Cut me down.

Nothing comes without a question:
"Why?"
Without a reason:
"What?"...
And the good..
In waiting..
To be lost however retrieved.

I'm weary dancing this shadow death.
Weary pretending to believe.
Weary trying to be me, whatever that means, so others are free..

..just a little,
More free.

Weary.
In our heart- human toil.

We all
Spin out.

I see it.

And here I am...
Spinning.

Spun.

Spun.

I'm tired.
Awaiting
My
Collapse.