The Stone

A heavy stone in an aching sack
Of air and acid
and water
No meal for the day
Unless they’re away
For a crossed path could swell the stone
Pressing against his chest
eager to burst
unrestrained
Like the day before
On boxes and speakers and chairs and tables
The voices still ring, pounding against his eardrums
Jeering at him, taunting
Breathing life to the stone
Another day
Another lingering moment
stretched long
In efforts to still the blister inside

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