Weariness, greedy and alone,
Settles into the bones,
It seeps into joints,
Leeching into muscle
Until movement becomes an arduous ordeal.
It saps the strength, the determination,
The will to continue.
Consumes the courage
So carefully constructed.
It does not march,
Does not decimate,
Does not erase you into oblivion.
Perhaps it would be better.
Instead, it nibbles at the foundation,
Weakening from within,
Coerced into defeat,
You crumple to your knees.
Take me, take me.
But exhaustion does not kill your body.
You trudge on,
The death march of life,
Time, beating out the days.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Your spirit broken,
Its slumped shrunken form,
Fades on the road behind.