Mo’ Poetry. A Sampling of the 4 pages of Poems I Was Forced to Write This Week

I am on edge, on the border between breaking
down and simply giving up the ghost.
Time teases me, taunts me with the illusion
that I have it, when in fact I race against it
in a chase I cannot win, but at most
can only hope to tie, or perhaps get
some consolation in a hard fight fought.
Stress is over my shoulder, whispering
subtle hints at the joy it will feel at my demise.
I am on edge, and Time has long before
overcome me. My fight now is against the demon
Stress, who plays dirty to further its devilish ends,
but I will fight back with hands themselves unclean,
and there will be no consolation prize.

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