i'm tired of trying to be poetic, it's so overwhelming and crushing. there are so many days where i feel like atlas, my spine snapping one vertebrae at a time, one knee going down at a time, a scream of blinding pain jammed in my throat, blocking my airways and suffocating me, my shoulders bruised and broken under the weight of everything. this world and its weight make my chest tighten and hands shake and i know this is how i'll die, trying to carry the entire universe on my frail body, the sky striking my back and telling me to give up already, promising me to an eternity of peace if i just let it roll off my sloping back already.
the sweat of my skin makes the universe slip but i never let it drop for the fear of shattering its fragile complexion before the next atlas comes along. i believe that every atlas succeeds in supporting the weight of the world until the very second the next one comes, and the ball drops and shatters, and the world starts all over again with the new atlas picking up the pieces without taking the advice of the former telling them that it's not worth it, but the newcomer believes they are stronger and better and pulls the universe onto their shoulders with so much love and care for their new world only to learn that the predecessor was right - it's not worth to break your spine and spirit over your love for your creation, but that sense of ownership keeps them holding on to their world despite the face that they don't love them back.
i should've listened.
