The Triple Burden

The sleepless debt was already running high,
When the trip to the shop exacted its reply.
Each aisle a mile, the fluorescent glare too great, my energy spent, submitting to the weight.
​
​This is the floor; the deepest point I've found,
Where total exhaustion is the only sound.
Lack of rest, the walking, and the pain's command, a triple burden I can barely withstand.

​Then, just as the last reserves ran cold and low, the familiar crimson tide began to flow.
The monthly visitor, a profound, deep drain,
layering more weakness on top of the strain.
​
​This is the floor; the deepest point I've found,
Where total exhaustion is the only sound.
Lack of rest, the walking, and the pain's command, a triple burden I can barely withstand.
​
​I was fighting the glare, I was counting the cost, each empty pocket, everything I'd lost.
But the debt collector has come for the soul,
now my own body's taken its ultimate toll.

​This is the floor...
The crimson floor...
Total exhaustion...
Is the only sound.

Dark Folk and Gothic Americana