Stress…at the heart of the matter.

Stress…at the heart of the matter.

Even on a good day

The sky high and wide

The sun incandescent,

Burning

All trace of a chill

Spring mist away,

There is still

Weight.

An ambient

Atmosphere

Pressing down

Against the earth

Crushing the air

From your body.

Pressure,

Building up

Behind the eyes

A fluttering tickle

Becomes a stitch

That is never saved

In time.

An edge of panic feeling,

Fills your chest,

Trilling its warning,

Like the hammer

On a mechanical

Fire alarm.

A road drill,

A woodpecker,

Beating its head

Against a fence post.

It goes on and on

Incessantly,

Jumbling thoughts,

Turning the world

Upside down,

Each breath drawn,

Shorter than the last.

Quickening

The pace,

Creating a vacuum

In a soul,

Packed tight

With crushed dreams,

Too compacted

To be distinguished,

Memory traces,

Striving

To survive.

Fighting to find

A way out.

Climbing one

Over the other,

Struggling to the top,

Before collapsing,

Back into the mire

From whence they came.

And yet,

Still you stagger on,

No more swagger,

Just the fear

Of stopping,

And what on earth

Will happen next,

Keeps you

Moving forward.

The stress of life,

Too great

To free you

From its steely, vice

Like, iron man grip.

Until you are

All used up.

Crushed into a ball,

And tossed

Away like a paper cup,

Good for nothing,

But recycling,

Or, the rubbish tip.