My chest is not your tabletop,
don’t set your burdens here to drop.
Your memories may burn and stay,
but they are not for me to weigh.
Don’t stack them neatly, one by one,
like bricks that block out air and sun.
Don’t press them hard against my skin
there’s barely space I’m breathing in.
Stop laying worry on my ribs,
stop carving guilt in heavy grids
stop, sToP, STOP, I feel them bend,
each fragile bone begins to rend.
You say you’re scared, I hear it loud,
a storm that begs to be allowed
but I am drowning just the same,
inside my own relentless flame.
My fears don’t leave, they dig in deep,
they gnaw at every thread of sleep.
My hopes collapse, my regrets cling,
a thousand weights on everything.
Now add your stones, your endless ache,
and feel the structure start to break
my spine is splintering in two,
my lungs collapse beneath you.
My heart, once red, now dull and brown,
a thing that beats but can’t slow down.
Each breath a shard, each gasp a plea:
take back what does not belong to me.