I am trying to think of something to say, but my words are gone.
The tiredness of my mind can no longer carry my thoughts.
It keeps going, but it does not end or make any sense.
When I try and rest, I sit and worry about what to do next.
I need to be like the river, the one that holds no secrets, but everyone still goes and tell.
Instead, I am like a tree that has no end.
Soon my time will come, and it will be too late.
The clock is winding down, but I keep going with all my nine lives.
Sleep is what is needed, but the rest is never there.
If the eyes are closed the mind still must go.
One day it will all end, and the rest will begin.