Exhausted

The mud clings to my boots, dragging me deeper within.

Taking a step is a battle.

I feel the suction pulling the shoes from my feet.

This isn’t a poem. That’s too much of an honor.

This is nothing, nothing compared to the mud that sticks to my skin.

There’s no tree to cling to in sight.

And I know if I lie down I’ll never be able to get up again.

But I’m so tired.