If you can die of exhaustion, then I'm in trouble.

My exhausted mind needs solace.
My tired eyes sure crave for pretty things to rest upon.
There are plenty - but this is not enough.
I feel bored, empty and damn weak.
I feel like a stranded carcass, left to rot on the roadside.
I feel like some loathsome scavenger, eating someone else's leftovers.
Always hungry for more.

Yum.
I do the things I do for myself, not for you.
So get the Hell out of here.