Not Stress

It's not even stress.

It's hopelessness when my goal is stretched thin.

The best I could do is dress for the wind.

Pressed like I'm gin.

What a mess I left when I leapt in.

Given a question.

Lessons like weapons against my chest gleich threatens.

Despite my best intentions.

Despite the height of the test I'm kept in deception.

Swept in depression.

Slept in expression.

I don't see the sense in repentance when I'm free from dependence.

Flee from the dimensions they preach like discretion of speech.