Her body felt like someone was holding her down. Lifting her hand took all the energy she had. She reached for the phone, which seemed like it took forever. The fatigue that took over her body was not a familiar feeling. She was a picture of health. What could be causing her body to work against her? What could be causing her to feel like she had no control over the simple act of lifting her hands and wiggling her toes?
Cris Nole
Another sleepless night, laying awake thinking about the love that is out of reach. The mental fatigue was taking its toll on him, he reminded himself, “Move on,” but he couldn’t; he was in love.
Whiskey_writer
The fatigue weighed on them making their steps heavy, their breathing laboured, few of them raised their heads as they moved focussed entirely on keeping the pace constant. They were moving silently, at the maximum speed the group could sustain, spread out single-file along a path, the mist closing in behind them as they passed.
I wander in this world of dust. Countless years, days, seconds of restlessness, constant movement. I have not slept in god knows how long. I collapsed and turn to dust.
He wants for a nap but I coax him onto his back. Supple, lingering, promising: gentle, considerate touch is all I need. A kiss for your troubles, Sir. A kiss for your compliance, Sir, I trust you’re beginning to see? A kiss for your continued cooperation, yes, I know, it does feel sweet. My darling do keep arching for me, oui.
Downward, downward, down I go.
Under different circumstances I might have let him catch his sleep. Yet it’s with impish satisfaction that I become the harbinger of his complete fatigue.
Dream Pop
Her fatigue was like a fuzzy light, the end of a blaze eclipsing into night. It was hard to be half tired. there were flames and there were embers, but no space between.
I’m tired. So tired, but it’s not to the degree of fatigue. I love it when the French say fatty gay. It’s cute. Que sweet. I’m never tired to the degree of real fatigue, but I do get tired at times. I’m glad that I don’t have a job that requires a lot of exertion.
Fatigue over takes me as I fall to the ground. I can’t go any further. This test is the worst out of all of them I have endured. As I fall to the ground, I feel something shocking me, but it’s more distant and feels like a tickle at this point.
Cheyenne Aeternum
In the desert, the sun doesn’t care how thirsty you are. It doesn’t care that your body has already thinned within days, mottled with growing age spots, wrinkled from fatigue. It gazes down at bodies in the sand as if watching ants struggle to return to their colonies – and it pays no heed to anyone’s cries for mercy.
Because the sun is not a god. It’s a giant ball of helium and hydrogen. It has no feelings.
Belinda Roddie
The fatigue was reaching her, her eyes trying to close of their own accord. “I need to sit down.”
“We have to keep going, Angie,” Pete looked back at her with impatience.
“I really have to sit down.”
Pete sighed and walked back to her, grabbing her arm, supporting her. She was confused until she felt her knees buckle. How had he known?
The army corps members in their soiled fatigue are too fatigued to build the bridge for the town. But the storm is near and their will and training made them overcome their fatigue.
Fatigue surrounded the wounded. Their wounds weren’t healing -not to mention severe- and, at this point, all they could do was let their families come in and talk to them in their final moments. Becca sat down outside the quarantine room covering her face while tears ran down her already reddened cheeks.
tired trouble smother smooch, trees sagging springtime bloom, bluebirds fanning the damp grass, droopy feathers, the buzz of motor and the squeal of old truck, footprints in muds shrinking into themselves and slurching.
This is when I feel overwhelmed, when I feel there is too much going on around me. This feels like not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, not being able to concentrate.
Marta
She reaches out towards my direction. As always.
“I’ve been on this bed for so long. Nothing has been working. Please do it. Please.”
Her hands always do that when she needs me to do something for her, and so I automatically walk to her with a cup of water. But this time, it’s clear that wasn’t what she wanted.
Slowly, I hand her the water making sure her frail hands have a firm grip on it before I let go. She sips the water and carefully places the cup on the side table. She sighs as her eyes look at me decidedly, then reaches out again.
“Please.”
Avoiding her gaze, I pretend to not comprehend what she’s trying to tell me, but we both know that I understand. She has been bringing up the topic for months, but only now has she actually requested it. Her gaunt hand stretches even more toward me. And so I close my eyes, nod, and follow. As always.
When she opens her eyes, first Thing in the morning, she feels the familiar fatigue rushing over her. Turning her limbs heavy and her mind foggy. Like every other day for three months now. There are better days, but they are always bad. It’s been so long since she felt… well rested, energized and… herself.
If she got out of bed within an hour, it would be her biggest accomplishment for the next two weeks for sure. When she found the strength to shower, she deliberately avoided to look in the mirror. The woman who looked back,was a stranger. A shell without a soul.
A mind without a purpose.
One day, she’s not sure how, she steps outside. Not thinking about her actions, just slowly walking down the stairs trance-like. She’s sitting there at the bus stop on the bench, a minute walk from her house door. Everybody avoided her, no one sat down next to her, even spared her a glance. Her last shower had been a while ago and yet, she couldn’t care less. She took those steps all by herself.
If fatigue had less and fitness was not an issue then all the aspects of the eternal quality of knowing would make no transition in what we know as time.
Robert Kohlhammer
fatigue
should be a one word poem
exhaustion comes with creativity
a fate worse than physical labor
psychological torture
to wring dry
to imagine
to be without ideas
Matt m.
The alarm clock rang. She woke up startled, what morning again? How could that even be possible? She had just closed her eyes, for sure. She did not even feel refreshed, her mind was still foggy, her eyelids still clung together.
Her body felt like someone was holding her down. Lifting her hand took all the energy she had. She reached for the phone, which seemed like it took forever. The fatigue that took over her body was not a familiar feeling. She was a picture of health. What could be causing her body to work against her? What could be causing her to feel like she had no control over the simple act of lifting her hands and wiggling her toes?
Another sleepless night, laying awake thinking about the love that is out of reach. The mental fatigue was taking its toll on him, he reminded himself, “Move on,” but he couldn’t; he was in love.
The fatigue weighed on them making their steps heavy, their breathing laboured, few of them raised their heads as they moved focussed entirely on keeping the pace constant. They were moving silently, at the maximum speed the group could sustain, spread out single-file along a path, the mist closing in behind them as they passed.
I wander in this world of dust. Countless years, days, seconds of restlessness, constant movement. I have not slept in god knows how long. I collapsed and turn to dust.
He wants for a nap but I coax him onto his back. Supple, lingering, promising: gentle, considerate touch is all I need. A kiss for your troubles, Sir. A kiss for your compliance, Sir, I trust you’re beginning to see? A kiss for your continued cooperation, yes, I know, it does feel sweet. My darling do keep arching for me, oui.
Downward, downward, down I go.
Under different circumstances I might have let him catch his sleep. Yet it’s with impish satisfaction that I become the harbinger of his complete fatigue.
Her fatigue was like a fuzzy light, the end of a blaze eclipsing into night. It was hard to be half tired. there were flames and there were embers, but no space between.
I’m tired. So tired, but it’s not to the degree of fatigue. I love it when the French say fatty gay. It’s cute. Que sweet. I’m never tired to the degree of real fatigue, but I do get tired at times. I’m glad that I don’t have a job that requires a lot of exertion.
Fatigue over takes me as I fall to the ground. I can’t go any further. This test is the worst out of all of them I have endured. As I fall to the ground, I feel something shocking me, but it’s more distant and feels like a tickle at this point.
In the desert, the sun doesn’t care how thirsty you are. It doesn’t care that your body has already thinned within days, mottled with growing age spots, wrinkled from fatigue. It gazes down at bodies in the sand as if watching ants struggle to return to their colonies – and it pays no heed to anyone’s cries for mercy.
Because the sun is not a god. It’s a giant ball of helium and hydrogen. It has no feelings.
The fatigue was reaching her, her eyes trying to close of their own accord. “I need to sit down.”
“We have to keep going, Angie,” Pete looked back at her with impatience.
“I really have to sit down.”
Pete sighed and walked back to her, grabbing her arm, supporting her. She was confused until she felt her knees buckle. How had he known?
The army corps members in their soiled fatigue are too fatigued to build the bridge for the town. But the storm is near and their will and training made them overcome their fatigue.
Fatigue surrounded the wounded. Their wounds weren’t healing -not to mention severe- and, at this point, all they could do was let their families come in and talk to them in their final moments. Becca sat down outside the quarantine room covering her face while tears ran down her already reddened cheeks.
tired trouble smother smooch, trees sagging springtime bloom, bluebirds fanning the damp grass, droopy feathers, the buzz of motor and the squeal of old truck, footprints in muds shrinking into themselves and slurching.
This is when I feel overwhelmed, when I feel there is too much going on around me. This feels like not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, not being able to concentrate.
She reaches out towards my direction. As always.
“I’ve been on this bed for so long. Nothing has been working. Please do it. Please.”
Her hands always do that when she needs me to do something for her, and so I automatically walk to her with a cup of water. But this time, it’s clear that wasn’t what she wanted.
Slowly, I hand her the water making sure her frail hands have a firm grip on it before I let go. She sips the water and carefully places the cup on the side table. She sighs as her eyes look at me decidedly, then reaches out again.
“Please.”
Avoiding her gaze, I pretend to not comprehend what she’s trying to tell me, but we both know that I understand. She has been bringing up the topic for months, but only now has she actually requested it. Her gaunt hand stretches even more toward me. And so I close my eyes, nod, and follow. As always.
When she opens her eyes, first Thing in the morning, she feels the familiar fatigue rushing over her. Turning her limbs heavy and her mind foggy. Like every other day for three months now. There are better days, but they are always bad. It’s been so long since she felt… well rested, energized and… herself.
If she got out of bed within an hour, it would be her biggest accomplishment for the next two weeks for sure. When she found the strength to shower, she deliberately avoided to look in the mirror. The woman who looked back,was a stranger. A shell without a soul.
A mind without a purpose.
One day, she’s not sure how, she steps outside. Not thinking about her actions, just slowly walking down the stairs trance-like. She’s sitting there at the bus stop on the bench, a minute walk from her house door. Everybody avoided her, no one sat down next to her, even spared her a glance. Her last shower had been a while ago and yet, she couldn’t care less. She took those steps all by herself.
If fatigue had less and fitness was not an issue then all the aspects of the eternal quality of knowing would make no transition in what we know as time.
fatigue
should be a one word poem
exhaustion comes with creativity
a fate worse than physical labor
psychological torture
to wring dry
to imagine
to be without ideas
The alarm clock rang. She woke up startled, what morning again? How could that even be possible? She had just closed her eyes, for sure. She did not even feel refreshed, her mind was still foggy, her eyelids still clung together.