"More Weight"

Burden seems a weight upon the chest.
A pressing that impedes the muffled pulse.
Will to continue becomes a breath expelled and lost.
Motive waxes and wains no less frequent than the pendulum's swing.
Spirit dulls. Lungs shallow. 
The mind sears with use. Pressure inevitably detours to the head.
Arms and legs turn to gutters pooling blood apart from the load.
Hands grow numb and weak and loose their grasp on the soul.
One's eyes dim and focus skews.
Response dulled. Motion stilled.
And silence fills the room.