the baleful primal

in bed I lie,
eyes are heavy, a little high.
touch my toes to stretch my thighs,
weakening thoughts drop to small sighs.

can’t go forward, can’t go back
stuck waiting while wondering,
“am I on track?”
I’m tired, I’m exhausted, I’m feeling quite done.
I wish we could leave,
take up homesteading for fun.

I don’t often rhyme, but it’s fun when I do,
quite often I’ll rhyme if I feel shades of blue.
if I was medicated, mentally healthy,
it’d be over for everyone, I’d be more than just wealthy.