Sometimes my head seems much too heavy for me to carry.
The overload of wishing and humming those songs that rip you open,
Are most times a moment to lengthy to bare.

Indulgence. Not a viable solution these days

My shoulders are aged and slumped and I can’t move the weight much longer.
I don’t want to push and shove it no more. I don’t want to shift and replace it again.
Don’t want to excuse or power paint it. Can’t, maybe it was meant to be, for the zi-trillionth time.
There are only so many sidewalks to leave a shadow on. Only a choice few uncovered corners, still, detached and forlorn enough to offer a breather.

And I do so need a breather.

There has to be a bag or suitcase, some kind of tote, waiting full to bustin’ with my answers. But I don’t see a place wide enough for it to hide. And if that’s the case, then the answer I seek is. . . I have no answers.
And that needs no sack to lie in.

Sometimes my head stays much too heavy to carry.