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.