The weight of exhaustion

He is only 25, a score and five, A young man tired of saying he is fine. When I met him, His body had been rescued, But his mind was far from reach. He had tried to quit The labour of breathing, But his resignation Was dismissed rather quickly. He was a score and five, But his mind was too sore, Too scarred. I read his note, Just as the others did, But I couldn't make a joke out of it. When he spoke, I asked, “Why?” “Nothing. I’m just tired.” He is only 25, a score and five, But his thoughts were older than his father. “I see an old man in the mirror. I see an old man With my face in the mirror.” I understood him— And became half-afraid To meet my own reflection. He is only 25, a score and five, A young man tired Of saying he is fine.