Running Out of Tactics

Not all hope is lost,
But it will run out when my energy does.
I’m trying to stand my ground,
I’m trying to befriend the beast,
I’m trying to plant my stick, a barrier:
It’s holding for now,
But it won’t forever
And I’m running out of tactics. 

Searching for help is a mix.
Searching for
   tactics,
   medics,
   allies,
   methods.

I can’t really believe them.
They are being so good,
So good it surely can’t be real.
The doubts always return 
Scratching at the back of my throat,
Crawling into my eyes,
Digging tunnels through my brain. 

I’m starting to crumple under the weight
Of my own idiotic, pointless, tiny war
So difficult to articulate.
I don’t know how long I can keep standing back up,
How long I can keep swinging between numb and
Whatever you call this other.

The finish line inches closer each day,
And I’m running out of strategies.

October 16-17, 2024