Pressure

When can I leave this place? This place that does not want me. This place that derives amusement from my torment.

Is breaking all that I can do? My only option for relief seems to be giving up.

My strength is a burden, by which I am crushed.

I can’t breath.

The oxygen grows thick around me. Everything remains sick, around me.

Must I embrace the lie? pretend it's blade not rest against my side?

Even if my lips denied the truth, my soul would war against my tongue.

The relief that I’d been searching for, quickly overcome.

I long to claim a victory that’s already been won.

But as yesterday bleeds on today, tomorrow feels so far away, that as I lay my head to pray, I can’t remember what I want.

Still I stand, crushed, love pressing on my heart.