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I am tired.
So very, very tired.

I tire of the meaningless games we all play, this daily waltzing and spinning around in the intricate webs we lay and the layers upon layers of meaningless meaning that we call social interaction.
I tire of having my every word twisted, my every gesture taken out of context and eyed with scorn and hate that burns a dark caramel.

Emotions have colours, you do know. And this one colours caramel, burnt caramel that stings the eyes and fills the nose and stays in the back of the throat.

I tire of running around to ease the murmuring within, of wearing myself down to the bone only to be able to sleep a restless sleep and dream of nothing and everything. I tire of stressing over everything and nothing, and I tire of filling my days with work only to find myself too fatigued to actually do anything. I tire, dear reader, of being unable to do anything at nothing more than half the speed at which I used to work. I tire of feeling like a broken machine, old and rusted, tired and sad and worn down. I tire of this rut I have thrown myself headfirst into.

I tire, I tire.
Of building myself up, of taking the whole day just to put a smile onto the face I wear - Kilgrave would be proud - only to require but a fraction of the night to tear everything down, to spend moonrise bothered and sullen and listening to the murmuring, the whispering; to have to channel this feeling of disturbance, so very deep in my marrow, into something else that may bring forth the tears and blessed relief to be able to cry, cry, cry.

And so I fall into exhausted slumber, and so my dreams are plagued with worry and falling and the bitter aftertaste of guilt, that I should render one so worried about me, and so I wake remembering nothing of the night before but the guilt, the unshakeable guilt that follows me around like a puppy begging for attention.

And so I sit - tired, bothered, guilty, weighted with fatigue and light-headed with a hunger so lacking that I am dying of starvation. And so day to night to day it is the usual rinse-and-repeat: I smile, I cry, I smile, I don't, I smile, I laugh, I listen to the whisperings and the keening for silver and copper and I dance, dance, dance, in this neverending waltz.