Atlas Shrugged

Heaviness

Is a concept your hands won't entirely understand

Until the weights you are carrying slip from your grip

And fall to crush your feet

A weight you don't need to suffer
But you do, because you love them

So you load yourself with their secrets and sins ,reeking of pain

Told in whispers reflecting off the smudged panes

In a parked car, past midnight

And as they invade your heart and make it their home

Out of concern, you willingly flip through the pages of their unspoken tomes

And accidentally read the cryptic avowals

Scribbled on the quires of their eyes

Because you got just the right face that vibes of benevolence

And trust

It becomes a tiresome must

After years of working full time

Fussed, with no pay

Even though it's vexing , you nevertheless stay to plaster their wounds

Patch their cracked selves, and dote their feelings around

There is no emotional gain even

They slash you because you are the closest to them

When they can no longer bear with the shame

Of being vulnerable, and  the guilt of being a burden

Well, Atlas has an itch

Somewhere in his chest

One he can't relieve, because his hands are busy carrying your grief

And he believes you couldn't scratch it for him

Since you didn't even notice the twitch

You don't have the time to search, and you are not an expert

In guessing, nor a huge fan of caressing someone else's hurt

So Atlas has come to this conclusion;

He thinks it's time to dump your wreckage on your head

He thinks it's time to redd his own life

He's been held back by kindness for too long

And with every stop, passers-by added more to his junk

As if his tolerance was a bottomless trunk

He's so done collecting your tears in a jar

So tired and sick of the constant din in his ears

Of being consumed

Expired

Wrinkled, like tiny flumes carved on a shore repeatedly visited by the same waves

Leaving nothing behind but vain spumes

Listen to me

I need you

I'm sad

I'm crushed

Here is some pain, would you carry it for me?

You never thought that, perhaps he needs you

Perhaps he wants you to listen to him

Perhaps he 's more sad and broken than you will ever be

Perhaps your constant need for a wall to lean on

Is the reason

Atlas has mastered the art of supporting the world

While faking glee