Pressure

Restless eyes stare at screens
Blank with contempt;
Their gazes never wavering
From the blinking cursor.
Palms stroke own necks
Pensively,
Testing resistance,
Kneading at the knots
That twitch below stretched skin:
Ripe enough to burst,
Yet lingering,
Wandering lower,
Seeking refuge in
Better guarded shelters.
They taunt,
Words etched deep within,
Their reign stretched
Far past their worth,
Their weight a tattered quilt
Laid over bent backs;
The spineless have less trouble
Reaching the ground.
Silver clasps grasp
Motionless wrists,
Their tugging deftly tuned to
Ever ticking tones,
Their vice-grip only loosened
By those who struggle,
Yet tightened
By angered pulses.
The ultimate vicious circle.
Attempts to bargain
Prove futile,
As the churning of stomachs
Is merely amused
By hopeful substitutes.
Desires for distraction
Grow weaker
When the blows
They so wish to delay
Transfer to throbbing temples.
Resistance is hopeless,
Denial, worthless
For the tasks
We so ardently hide
Beneath the uproar of days
Will reclaim
Their tireless strain
Once their voice remains
Alone.
A sharp sliver reaching through
Worn-out pillows,
A tug-of-war
Engraved inside
Those late night thoughts…