This word,
I stole it.
No reasoned rationale
could ever give me an out.

My path has hills in it’s way, not mountains.

This word was a gift for those buried by the rock slide,
Or clutching to cliff’s edge, losing oxygen,
Not for one who merely needs to trudge one foot in front of one foot in front of

Stop!

It feels like I’ve come to a stop
But it’s a rest without respite
I looked around and took too much reality inside
And now I’m the one who can’t breathe
But I’m not even one foot off the ground

It doesn’t make sense
Scary in that sense
I had to combat its elusivity
It was the only thing I could think to do

I stole their word.

I’ve never felt so broken.