The weight presses down heavy
Like a crown of wicked thorns
Unmanageably thick and gnarled
Knobby hands gripping fiercely
Twisting firmly into place
As delicate as pedantic love
In the face of dulled conscience
Worn thin from experience
Chained to a desperate need
This substitute for affection
Dressed up in period finery
The death of perfect emotion
Pressed down impossibly flat
Suffocating in its intensity
Faced with the potential of love
So black and contentious
Unnerving in its complexity
Shackled to expectations
Gone awry at a moment’s notice
Under a pressure so thick
It crushes into oblivion
And leaves shards in its wake.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 