Dry as a bone

I am over fighting. I am over chasing. I am over it all. I have nothing left. I am dry as a bone. I am tired of bearing the brunt of hatred and anger. I have endured it for nearly a decade and I am worn through. Like a rock in a river, I have been picked up and thrown back, cracking as a result. I have been eroded by water and tumbled in rough sand. I have been admired briefly for my outer appearance but discarded time and time again for the qualities that lie underneath.

I have no way out; no avenue to explore. I have no hope. I am stuck on a path for at least another decade and so I have no choice but to plod on. Left foot. Right foot.

The only joy I have are the brief times I spend with my children but they are too infrequent and bittersweet. My other sources of joy have dried up like my humble heart. Shrivelled and smelly like a corpse on a hot summer day.