Fatigue et al.

Melancholic, past dusk, fatigue et al,
as far, and as small as a lowly Earth,
so deep, I’d weep for the loneliness,
nostalgic, bare and half-beyond sleep.

Fuck my life, and other short stories,
bless my bones; mine and mind alone,
miming rituals, flat, vacant victuals,
fear the reaper and the hanging day:

eye drops, milk stout, and right as rainfall.