This Is Not a Good Side of Me

I'm tired. I am so tired. I sit. I decompose.

I am distracted. I am unsure. I am lonely. This will be my first Christmas without you in six years and all I can think about is some boy I let in.

I don't know if this is progression or regression or if this is just life. If this is how people live.

I feel a deep and penetrating sadness that is not related to any man but to me. It is connected to me, rooted inside of me. I feel like I can't escape and like I am on the run.

I feel that I will never get to rest. There is no rest for the wicked. And I feel wicked.