My Prison Souls
Soul Pressure













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SOUL PRESSURE

He picks at my soul
With a fine tooth comb
He makes me think
Makes me wonder...
My insides ache
My soul is sore
Which to turn
Which way to run
Which way to hide?
Always afraid to share too much
Always afraid to know people...
My soul is sore
It aches...
It's restless,
And so am I.
Can't eat
Can't sleep
Overwhelming waves of anxiety
Awaiting
The release of my soul...

Copyright Heather Prudence Davis