What of me

What of me

Do I tug

Holding you back

Filling your boots

With the heaviness

Of muddled words

Saturated in the sweat

Of a furrowed brow

Do I

Pull at your shirt sleeves

Dragging behind

As you struggle to fly

Whispering incessantly

Filling your head

With doubts

A nagging pain

Behind the eyes

A red mist in waiting

Clouding judgement

Demanding patience

Worry beads

Asking to be counted

Am I a shroud

To be pulled over

As a respite

From the iniquity

Of shadows

Emboldened by darkness

Obscuring the stars

Even on a clear night

Am I a truthsayer

Is there cruelty

In my intention

To be a caregiver

When I save you

From yourself

For good or ill

I am a reason

To believe

I am sentient

I am conscience

I am yours.