How is this supposed to feel?
After so many days of stress,
Rest hardly feels real.
It's something I can't assess.


I feel like a sphere.
Each task causes me to compress,
And makes me feel like less.
So small I may disappear.


I'll be a point.
I'll reside in one dimension.
I'll be an arbitrary item of retention
To which no freedoms can a deity anoint.


Yet when the pressure is released,
I cannot expand again.
I experience peace,
But I'm expectant, like a capless pen.


I can't relax,
I can't let my hair down.
In only a week I'll be back,
And dreaming about leaving this town.