I tire of all of this;
January comes I pay the rent, but soon enough it is February, December, and January all over again
The cycle insatiable, never ends.
I tire of paying, and paying, and always paying.
Feed my stomach, but minutes later, it’s growling in demand. It will not be ignored.
I work for a living,
Put up with unreasonable irrate colleagues and bosses
Year in, year out I work, but in the end have nothing to show for it.
Like fire, like the womb of a barren woman, like the earth on which I tread
Needs, wants, desires, demands, insatiable
I hope for something evidently out of reach
And I tire of this, I do.