Pressure.

The expected torture came up from behind,

Snuggling me close,

Me, it tried to compose.

It writhed and squealed,

And my muscles it whipped,

The words lashed out for good,

My brain,

All in all, a magnet to pain.

I cried with shame,

My eyes red rimmed they were,

My heart fluttering with despair,

Gone was my aim.

To try that hard and fail so nice,

I realized I couldn’t buy victory with my cries.

I have two more chances,

Two more dances,

I couldn’t trip, I shouldn’t fall,

But it kept me awake and did not let me dream

I had a part of my life to redeem.

It called me shameless; it called me gut-less,

It called me worthless; it called me careless

It wasn’t misery, It wasn’t a disorder,

It wasn’t any obsession nor was it depression.

It was only a four letter word.

It was exams that had me chained to grief.

To try that hard and fail so nice,

I kept realizing I couldn’t buy victory with my cries.

Love, Kiss my sear,

Trust, Wipe away my tear,

Faith, be sincere,

And everybody else,

Tell me there's luck still to appear.

My wet heart struggling to beat,

My tears dry of emotion,

We were tired, all of us

Of Decameron, Boccaccio and Erasmus.

I had me to mend and for that,

I knew, I needed silence in the end.