FATIGUE

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I'm tired of seeking you
of looking for an unlocked door,
of rummaging in the drawers,
of waiting for letter - not written yet.
I'm weary of sinking deep,
of breathing
the venomous sorrow of the air,
running away from arms
that time is offering me.
I'm tired of betraying me
to every tender look
to look back with lust,
to offer me at any price
and behind the doors
of my midnight lovers
to not see you.

© Biliana Atanasova
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© E-magazine LiterNet, 17.01.2005, № 1 (62)

Edited by Hristo Boev.