Day Fifteen

I grow tired of my words
They fall from chapped and bleeding lips
My tongue feels stuck like cotton balls
and my heart is worst of all.

Will you meet me in this place?
The way grows rougher with each step
I do not see the way before
save the next step only now.

Carry me when I can’t walk
and lay me down when I’m to die
and tell my heart to wait in faith
as all else begins to rot.

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