The Ceaseless Tide

If one more email pings at night,
one more voice pulls at the fray,
another demand—a fire alight,
another shout to “do” or “pay”—

I swear I’ll burst, shatter, break,
with tempers caged and silence gone,
crushed by the weight others place,
on this thin, trembling thread.

Each ring a bell, a call to arms,
their needs—the kings, my time the pawn,
words urgent, their charms cloying,
biting at seconds, dusk till dawn.

Don’t they see the fissures spread,
across this mind, this shrinking skin?
Don’t they hear the songs of dread,
of knives that whisper, “Set us free”?

I delay, not fall—hold the storm,
they clamour, hammer, call me slow,
blind to the many battles I keep,
hidden, simmering where no one dares.

Each thinks they're the only flame,
demanding I bend, that I must serve,
unaware of the others, all pressing,
all shouting, all insistent.

And here I am, stretched thin,
balancing their stakes, their claims,
as I drown in this ceaseless tide,
silent, worn, but not yet broken.

I won’t submit, won’t make a sound,
lest silence learn what it can take.