where I lay to rest.

the world is knocked out cold, echoes of promises that was once told. heavy eyes, ringing ears, exhaustion that’s accumulated for years. a quiet sleep for a day, a week, or a year. to stop the noises I no longer want to hear. I’ll keep on dreaming about leaving, then I’ll flee and ease my heavy breathing. I won’t stop seeking for a place of my own, somewhere no one can reap what I’ve finally sown. dry leaves or a pile of soft clouds, a free space with no overbearing crowds. I’ll find a place to rest my aching head, it’s the place where I’ll be resting, dead. still, I’ll tell myself to keep on moving, I know I’ve tried enough, but I can’t stop myself from hoping.