I am so weary of the pain,
exhausted by the all too
evident progress of decay
that encompasses this
bitterly physical life.
The very sensual being
that I had once reveled in
has betrayed me, left me
to rot on jagged angry
and most sullied stones.
There are nights when
cringing in injury
I crawl into bed and beg
the gods for something
like a decent rest.
They laugh at me,
but then of course they do,
so true is the course of life
that pleasure must inevitably
give way to the inescapable.
I close my eyes and breathe,
and breathe again, listening
to patterns of pathetic
failure, organic structures
struggling to find peace.