Weighted Down

Every now and then I write in my actual journal what I call "poetry", or songs that I never make music to. Me writing poetry usually only happens on either extreme end of the emotional spectrum. I always write my poetry in pen in any one of my multiple unfinished journals. Here it is. I don't expect you to love it. and I don't mind if you hate it. I'm only expressing a strange feeling I have been having the past couple weeks; an odd heaviness that quite literally I can feel in my body.

Sometimes I feel like I can't move. 
I feel so heavy...
Even as I lift my hand to touch the pen to this page, I feel its weight. 
Weighted down.


I think it's my heart. 
There's something in my heart, 
Some disease that is spreading
Through the blood that my heart is pumping in and out. 


In and out, in and out,
And each time it circulates, 
the blood is getting sicker and sicker.


Heavier and heavier I feel.
My heavy, lifted arm is tired,
As if the blood running through my veins were weighted...
Weighted down. 


I feel so heavy!
I really cannot move. 
I think I may be paralyzed.
My body is tense and my muscles so tight. 


I don't think I could even scream,
if cared enough to try.
My throat is tight and I can hardly breath. 


Am I breathing? 
Am I even awake, 
Or is this some strange stream of semi-conscience thought,
That I am only aware of in my dreams?


Why won't this heaviness leave me?
I can't even cry; 
Not one single tear.
But oh how I long to cry.


Now I'm scared.
I want to cry, I want to scream. 
I want to kick, pound, and tear at the ground
That I cannot leave. 


But all I do is stare.
With my body on the ground curled up
In the fetal position,
Blankly at the wall I stare


I stare, and I think about my blood. 
It is still so heavy. 
It must be my heart.