Pressure

What is the pressure I feel on my chest,

the one that knocks the wind out of my lungs,

the one that pushes the knife into my heart?

This knife cannot be extracted,

for my heart will bleed out.

Even if I wanted to remove it,

I cannot.

I cannot,

Because the pressure is too great. 

So I would,

Refer to my head.

To no avail. 

It is too fogged,

the tears that have built up

take the presence of thought. 

The pressure only builds,

but never leaves. 

I need help. 

Loneliness,

and I are too well acquainted.