“Wouldn’t that be great”

I’ve got this pressure in my chest that stays dormant
Actually – dormant isn’t the right word, as it is almost actively taking up space
If it looked like anything it’d be black and mucky
If it felt like anything it would be dense and feel like molasses
And every moment that passes with it in me, anxiety grows
As it feels like at any moment it could drop
And that I could possibly drop with it
And it would envelop me
Swallow me
Take me away
But sometimes I think
“Wouldn’t that be great”

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