Why do we allow this pressure onto our shoulders?
Why continue if this is what life has to offer?
I feel burdened constantly, unremittingly
An anchor pulling me down, through the floor,
Through the core of the earth, through hell
I feel all the people in the world standing on top of me
And someone building a house of bricks on my chest
My shoulders slump, I can’t get up, cannot breathe,
My only thoughts of sleeping, hiding, dying
Anything to escape this ceaseless pressure
Placed there by realities that find me wherever I go
Work, work, study, work, study, work, work
A million demands fight for attention
None interesting, all stressful, horrible, useless
And they never let up, never end
Each day I wake up they are there waiting
Like a hammer ready to smash me in the face
Like an anvil suspended in midair,
Its cue for release my regaining of consciousness
Waiting to crush my chest and end the fading beat within
Why do we allow this pressure onto our shoulders?
What is life when all you feel is stress
Easily transforming life into an unmistakable burden,
A void sucking away all the peace and joy
Leaving a walking, talking husk mistaken for a man
A man who wants only to sleep, hide or die
Anything to flee from this reality
Of existence in service of industry
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