Iced

I believe I Must…     

I see no other way,
than to turn it in,
So that i can remain… whole.
It does nothing but feel,
As much as it beats,
But that is taking a toll.
I’m fatigued,
Down to my core.
My soul feels raw,
covered in abrasions…
Beyond words, it’s sore.
So I’m turning it in,
Permanently maybe,
I’m not yet sure.
Because It has become something that distracts,
and not much more.

I’ll give it a break,
and see where that leads.
Deep into a winter wasteland,
Or through to a warmth that feels…
Renewing.

…I guess we’ll see