Of what use is the struggle of living this life.
What do you really see life as?
What exactly can you see, hold, touch, feel, and say this is life?
It's like a demarcation between me and life.
There's life living its life and then, there's me trying to live life.
I look for the right keys to sing life on, but it tells me am screeching!
I look for the right steps to dance life out, but it tells me I've got no skill.
I look for the right colors to paint life with, but it tells me I've got no color.
I took my pen and tried to write life out, but it told me, Mr. you've got no words.
Unable to measure up to the standards that life has set, what then is the point of living?
Of course, I tried stabbing life, but it said: "you're too weak to take me out".
Helpless, hopeless, I walk the journey of life, just me and life.
It threw sticks and stones enough to break my bones
I heard a crack, it got my life, and now am limping through life.
It sent down rain enough to wipe out a nation, it got me wet
Now, am dripping through life.
It heats the sun up seven times more, to kill all those that refused to bow to it.
It was then I said to myself, limping, dripping, or even melting, you must get to the finish line successfully
Then, I said to myself... you can't
But then, came this feeling of ecstasy, a feeling of pleasure, a spark of hope, a thin line of positivity.
And then, I knew I wouldn't give up.
Ama get to the finish line.
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