Exhaustion, my old friend,
how time has changed your looks.
Drooping eyes from yesteryear,
shaped to the sensation of my heart, a lemon,
and you, awaiting a fresh glass of juice.
The lingering of your grip
once left a sandman’s delight to now
the 3 am witching hour of nightmares.
For age molds us all to be made up of
memories of yore, a closed eye outline
of childish all-nighters for the trade-off of an A.
Today lies the simple realization that sleep may
lead to one less day and a compromise to watch
my love’s eyes shut and hear his breathing in. A knowing
exchange for a later day’s panic attack.
Exhaustion, my old friend, you paint different colors
for our years. My wrinkles and your crippling effect.
In either case, I cannot seem to shake you, always
returning to remember your touch and absorb
your cold and engulfing wave. You whisper a
Siren’s song and I am lost to find my way back to shore.
Forgetting that the rest may replace the weary and
allow the feared blink to bring a stronger, sturdier sight.
In the morning I will vow to remember, at the next
tempting promise of missed opportunity, the lies you tell.
Exhaustion, my old friend, you know me better than this
untruth. For in the coming test, I will fall back to you.
For in the silence of the night, we dance.