Pressure

Under deepest fathoms my heart does sit,

Suffocated under the massive weight

Of the pressure of the decades of hate,

That have driven me down the deep dark pit

Of misanthropy, amid the sea of spit

I spewed as I sputtered poison, irate,

I waited for the dark tides to abate,

But here I sit, surrounded by the grit.

My body was crushed to its densest form,

But perhaps it is not to late for me

For to harness my lightest emotions,

To let the cool, kind clean oxygen swarm

In my soul, to set my tired body free,

Float buoyant atop polluted oceans.