Hampered.

My heart is heavy, like a corpse tightened with a rope to a rock and released into the great wide ocean, never to be seen - it is. My throat is sore, from the scratches of thistle and thorny bushes of assuring lies it is being subjected to, leaving grazes of regret with every gulp of saliva. My vein is bursting, and blood vessel is on the brink of popping; like confettis of shredded papers from a birthday celebration, for far in the darkest corner of my mind, houses a directory of disputed predicaments, waiting for my will and effort to pull it through. And this leaves my heart, for I cannot sleep because it is heavy, for even when I lay in bed, it sinks to the bottom of the skeletal frame of my body - it is.