It follows me around the house as I try to unwind,
breathe, dance, decorate, cook, fold

from behind and in front,
shifting its weight
and though I strive to forget about it,
release it till next week, when I will be paid to tend to it,
still it claws at my back
and my chest

orbiting around me,
reminding me I have not finished,
scolding, berating,

This old, antique
the opposite of a treasure,
no sentiment attached–
scrapes at my exterior
fingers outstretched aiming for my heart

And I

I may stumble in this silhouette,
fall into the bleak, inky shape that revolves about me,

I won’t
I said I won’t
give in, give it
my beat, beat, beating



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