inside my head.
Rising like of a loaf of bread,
blueish grey and soft as lead.
I'm a bobble doll
whose head's about to fall.

I carry it all
on my shoulder,
heavy as a boulder.
This year is making me older.
The weight of it
hunching my back.
Lowering my gait.
I cannot stand straight.

I carry it all
in my gut.
It runs a rut
through my innards.
The little sprinter
starts to splinter,
cutting my inside,
gaping holes feet wide.

I carry it all
in a bottle.
I've bottled it up for so long
trying so hard to stay strong.
Now I just let it all pass
out from my back like gas.