In every breath I take,
I only fill my emptiness
With air
For a brief while.

A longer release from this nameless burden that sits over me,
Would really be appreciated, you see?

I cannot breathe in for too long,
The weight returns with a spiking pain,
As painful as a somber memory...

Without name and cause,
This burden rests above my chest,
Yet from there it will not budge,
And I must be an Atlas, holding up the sky.

But wherefore does this weary weight come from,
It weighs heavy on the worn soul,
And when one knows not its cause,
It resembles a mystery to unfold.

My life is good and my worries are few,
Yet this immaterial intangible weight
Still constantly rests on my soul.

Are there others in this world
With so queer a tale to tell?
So I ask, dear readers,
So you feel such impending dread?

– Maya Desdemona