The Deficit Claim

The deficit began with nights unwon,
A weary tax collected before the sun.
My days they blurred to weeks, a persistent, dull ache, a fragile strength I forced myself to fake.
​
​Then came the outing, the necessary task,
To gather what the busy routine asks.
Each aisle a mile, the fluorescent glare too bright, and shopping bags became an iron weight. That energy spent was payment long overdue, now the exhaustion claims me, deep and true.
​
​But just as the reservoir ran cold and low,
A familiar crimson wave begins to flow.
The monthly visitor arrives again,
Tapping resources I had left to lend.
The cramps, the pull, the body's heavy plea,
A perfect storm of sheer fatigue for me.
​
​My shoulders slump beneath this triple strain, the lack of rest, the walking, and the pain. This is the floor; the deepest point I’ve hit, where simple existence is an act of grit.
​
​Exhaustion fills me now, complete and vast...
A heavier burden than the one that passed...

The Deficit Claim.
Deep and true...

Indie Folk and Slow-Burn