Tired

My tired: it creeps upon me. Draws up and over my bones, weighing me down into the soft darkness of sleep. Fingers try to keep purchase on keys but the dissolving sedatives are taking a more direct route.

Stupid, wonderful, cold medicine.

Put it in my mouth, swallow it down to my stomach, and watch as it makes my eye lids droop and slowly close. It takes away the words that were hanging on my fingertips, it dulls them in my brain like layers of warm, wet, tissue paper. Not one alone but layer, upon layer, until yes, there they go: my eyes close and the words are gone.