Running

We are in constant movement
Never allowed to rest
We drink the sweet tea
Look at the crumpled sheets
It's all too much to untangle
There is a pile of rubbish in the hallway
We cannot bear to throw it out
It is us
The thing we cannot name
Running on empty
Sound jangling
Black bags full
We wish to wear our shoes again
But for now we shuffle around in our socks
Lost and empty
Always on the search for the next fix
And the next
We look at the crumpled bed
All too much to fix.