Maybe this will save me. Though I doubt it.
Lately my chest feels as if its going to burst from the pressure of 20 atmospheres. The weight the weight of things unsaid, dark crevices unexplored - unexplored out of fear or prudence I know not. Under this pressure I am not myself. I am not buoyant, I cannot fly away in on the tidal of hope and sun as I used to. I am simply here, struggling away, failures internalized, and successes dismissed. And I can't shout out, and let this pressure escape in the form of a war cry or or a stream of frenetic syllables somehow flowing into a confession.
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