What Im Facing,


What Im Facing,

Just a try at life I’m chasing,

I’m not wasted, but wounded I found this life to be filled with broken promises mixed

with scary places.

Told that I’m supposed to do the best,

but my best has put me on this floor with no time to reset.

Reminiscing that I could have had it all, but

let it slip and fall.

Relentlessly, my problems just snowball, and it makes me want to put my cold head to

the heat.

But I’ve heard that only coward men end it relinquishing total defeat.

With my bloodshot eyes to the ceiling,

I feel my mom beside me kneeling. Me fighting forbid this inevitable burden of the same


from a coffin. 

I’m wheezing as I’m breathing, just

Felling like I’m standing on that picket fence of life and death,

and only left with a choice to

surrender all that I regret.

I start to shake and sweat with a pit of fire in my stomach taking away my every breath.

I fight to take just one more shot with all that’s left,

and killed the henchmen with my passion this assassin has no conscience.

I know It’s time to get up,

To give up is not an option.

I found that this life is a bet, and whether it is win or lose I choose to be my own prophet.

My stained stainless heart beats to strong for you to stop it.

I hear the world saying let up, but my mind SCREAMING, GET UP!

With curled fingers grasping the wall,

I cannot. Will not. Let myself fall again.

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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