I can feel them all pressing down.
They piled up, one by one
And I could knock some off
But it didn't make a difference;
they just kept piling up.
I'm some sort of magnet
A pressure point
In a glacier, perhaps
- all sides pushing against me and no relief
So this ice turns to water
My composure disintegrates and leaks
And suddenly I'm not a person any more
But a puddle of exhaustion and desperado
There's too much, too much, too much.
And there's nothing I can do
But try to pick them off one by one
One day at a time, as they say,
One thing at a time.

Will I ever be freed from burden?