I’m tired of being tired.
I’m sick of being sick.
All but my inner circle
Seem to think I’m thick.

I’m tired of futile input.
I’m sick of doctors, all.
Even the inner circle
Seem to think I’m weak.

I’m tired of watching life
go by, of sickness being all.
Who are we, really, when
Hope has left the ball?

I’m tired of being tired;
Sick of being sick.
I thought I used to be someone,
But even I now know I’m not.

Tired.
Sick.
Existential agonies.
Futility.
Resignation.

I’m done.

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