Exhaustion

I sit.
I sigh.
I stare.
I slouch.
I succumb.
It's slippery
a slowing slope
sliding effortlessly
into my ankles bruised
mysteriously, like a prank
tendons tensing as if to be played
like a broken violin in some person's attic.
All work and no play, as they say
makes for a dull so-and-so
so I put down my tools
so to free my hands
then carelessly
with aching
ligaments
I loosely
balance
a beer.
Nice.