With Tired Eyes

With tired eyes the lines between realities are blurred.
The fiction is invading the fact.
And with every passing second my certainties are unravelling.

With tired eyes I can see the end, the beginning.
The near becomes the far.
No longer can I hide behind my fading mask.

With tired eyes I do not sleep, nor wake, nor live, nor die.
In limbo I continue on.
It is killing me form the inside out.

By Pete Scopes