Exhaust

My limbs grow weak from the weight I carry. 
The grave is deep and I’m feeling buried. 
I try my best to raise my head. 
Body already feeling dead. 
I do what I can to make it through. 
Never giving up is what I will do. 
Exhaust hits hard like a freight train. 
Better yet like a bullet to the brain.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace