I know I will not ask for help

There are a very few things in this world important to me

Hope is not one of them

For I had it, and I kept it,

Then I lost all that I had, and that was all there was for me

I am not important to me

Nor is the concept of hardwork

It is a lie, I say,

A big fat lie

That people who work hard


It is but God’s plan

To deceive

Each one of its wings,

Bruised, bleeding, and begone,

Forlorn, you are thrown in,

Forlorn, are you abused,

Forlorn, your skin then paper thin,

Your heart of no use

My brain has died, my heart has died,

The remains hence tangle off a broken thread,

Yelling, for some reason,

It is bizarre, how someone can be so sad,

And mocked, at all times

I give up, I exclaim, or I try to

For who has the will to shout any more

I give in, I retire

Finding myself incapable of what could be

It is all what could have been now,

Nothing new, nothing old,

Stagnant is now a form of its own

And I have decided to accept it.


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