The bridge is in view now.
You’ve made it.
A figure is seen pacing on it.
You hope they’ll leave.

You feel it.
Some say it bears down on you
Like you have the world on your shoulders.
But no, my friends, that’s Atlas’s story.
That’s physical.

These mental games, they’re far worse.
No one to blame but yourself,
Because you
And only you
Brought it upon yourself.
You and only you cultivate it,
Feed it, make it strong.
It whirls around
Snapping at the hand that fed it,
Yet you can’t stop it now.
It’s out of control.
A feral beast, taking over your naïve mind.

Sure, you can feel something,
Something burdening your shoulders.
But oh, there’s so much more!

Your entire body feels pressed against,
Its personal space bubble popped,
Clawed by the beast.
Smothered by pounds and pounds of it,
It’s hard to remember there’s nothing actually there.
Yet it keeps its choke-hold, smirking
As you struggle.

It injects its poison into your mind,
It makes you worry.
You worry you worsen others’ lives.
You worry you’re a burden.
You worry they can see right through your mask.
You worry they don’t help because they don’t care.
You worry you are nothing.
You worry this is a gift from karma.

Your worries have distanced you from
Old trusted friends.
They miss the light in your eyes.
The zombie it’s created has them fooled,
For now.
With no where to turn, you surrender.
It’s everywhere—in your mind, swimming around you.
Any place that had previously been a solace
Is now hell, and it dictates
With a harsh hand.

Now, here you are,
Ambling towards the bridge,
Breath tinged with alcohol to lighten the burden.

Somebody’s already there.
Leaning against the railing, she seems to be waiting, for you.
You continue at your unsteady pace, and hesitate to approach her.
She grabs you by the hand, whispering reassurance,
And lures you away from your leap.
Expelling the awful thing, called Guilt.