From a Restless Pen

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It’s only 8:30 and I’ve already popped too many Excedrin. My eyes feel gritty and heavy and there is an annoying buzzing that seems to be coming from inside my head.

Trying to conceal the bags under my eyes this morning was like backfilling a grave. I stared at the face in the mirror and wondered when it got so old. My soul feels ancient and dusty.

Sometimes I’m just tired and wish for only darkness when I close my eyes. I don’t always need soundtracks and production value. Sometimes I feel like I’m my own curse.

Filed under life tired writing venting