Poetry

Stress (#1159)

Fire dancing on the rim of my spilling cup,
It’s spilled over because stress is building up,
So much stress in such little time,
They cut me open and poured in the lemon and lime,
My mood grows quiet, and my attitude gets sharp,
Stressed out by worries playing devil’s harp,
To quench its bitter taste isn’t easy or quick,
It’s a bomb I must defuse before the last tick,
For if I fail, I’ll simply shut down,
Defusing it is hard, please excuse my frown,
Soon all the pressures will be long gone,
I just must make until another coming dawn,
Until then, I fight the darkness all around,
Until tomorrow, when it is buried deep in the ground.

Any Thoughts?

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