There is a weight on my shoulders.
It pitches me forward, drags me down,
crushing me as if I am no more
than the smallest of insects. I am nothing.
Am I carrying it, or is it carrying me?
I have not the sense to tell anymore.
It has taken away my strength, my will.
It is my master, and I am at its mercy.
Somehow, I am still standing,
though I can feel my core breaking in two.
I am the molted skin of my old being,
a hollow husk, an empty soul.
The pressure, it kills me, resurrects me, repeat.
My endurance is fading, my body is weak.
I scream for someone, though I know there is no one.
This, I must face alone, with only the great shield to guide me.
This constant demon, I must slay,
to clear the path that I must take.
I am strong. I am living. This will end, today.
My sword raised, my shield steady, I am drafted into a lifelong battle.