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Disillusioned

March 14, 2018

The pressure to perform, the crushing weight of expectation,

weighs heavily on my weary shoulders.

A blinding, burning, dazzling sensation

as each task topples on me like falling boulders.

The resistance I provide becomes toxic, infecting my bloodstream

poisoning my heart, tiring my mind, lost in there, I wish I could scream.

But it is too late for a return to good health

the virus has won the bitter battle by stealth.

My ego retains a freedom illusion.

In reality there reigns a deep confusion.

I salvaged a hollow burnt out shell

but all else has gone to hell.

 

 

 

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