winter needs to slow down

I am so many kinds of tired.
It sinks into the crevices of my soul,
settling in between the rocks and the bricks there.
It is wet like mortar, after a time
and holds me fast, together.
I subsist on ashes, drinking it in
but it's slowly eroding at my lungs and my stomach.
I am so, so many kinds of tired
and it is wearing me too thin
like a hoodie I never like to wear
because it doesn't keep me warm anymore.