Today

Today I am bored.
sick.
tired, but not that happy sleepy tired.
The tired you get when you don't have anything left.
When you can't think of anything else because you already thought of everything, and frankly, you're sick of thinking all together.
When you go from the frantic search to the dull realization of life, which turns out to be fiction after all.

My mouth is not clamped shut.
But tiredness empties the giddy slap happy need to explode with nothing of any real importance.
So I sit quietly with the back of my throat pulling at words that don't exist, unable to say anything at all.