Heavy Heavy

I crawled out of bed and my feet hit the ground,
Pounding the floor like weights of lead.
Something weighs me down today,
Heavier than heavy.

I just want to reinsert myself
Back into the blanketed, air-chambered comfort of my nightly womb
and go back to sleep.
So unsatisfied with the status quo.

It peels off of me my optimism,
my care for everything else.
My animata cringes
at the direction in which I must once again force it to move
and makes me a new but familiar kind of heavy.

Heavier than heavy.

Heavy heavy.
 
Like a jazz musician playing with slow-speed gibberish
to enhance the chaos of his shrill trumpet creaks and blasts,
tearing and taking off each layer of resistance
until you find a common ground in his dismay
and general dislike for the things going on around him...
and inside him.

It's a stale refrain
with the same nightly message,
so dull in its shine it can't even muster a proper insult,
just a feeling of not being there at all...
empty... but heavy.

Or maybe just hollow

and the shell contains the weight.