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IP:
Struggle for Victory
Italic - Suspicious
Bold - Fathom This
For your lively sake, please do not weep or mourn,
For I have prepared for my death since the day I was born..
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Critical anxiety flowing, cerebriation crashing through my mind,
Blood rushing through my veins, I seek for help; there's no signs
Muscles tightening upon compression, my thoughts are oppressive,
I urge myself to run, but the fear of death makes me repressive
The moment is soon to come, where failure is a presence,
the masks come off from demons, and treat humans like peasants
The death of one has come quickly, another soon to call,
while the struggle for victory is endless, so is hell's fall
Ever embracing the solitary contrary to his old friends,
Cold winds of an autumn he spends without a soul's breath
Dropped the paint brush to illustrate a vision he can touch,
Graffiti laminated walls beckon his name to fill in the cuts
So heaven he walks, down a savaged path to hear the water's tide,
As it crashes the receding line of sand, it hollers and cries
Replenishing the tear's in his eyes, he wants to plunge in,
But the hidden sun sings his demise of demons in a dungeon
Before his father used his hand to violently maul his face,
Burning his pupils to a memory that even he could never trace
If only he could see the stars plummeting because of his death,
He sold his soul and eternity for 24 hours of vision in stead
Now, he lacks the dollars to recollect his pastels and chemistry,
An entity of little meaning, scening his chest with an elegy
His skin cut to ribbons, his enemy is his own subconscious,
A monster scaring him out the closet is now the lady ceasing the nonsense
His mother has been looking for her first born for months on end,
Attends the city's primates, a jungle of rusting wires about to disconnect
Listening to the voices in her head, finding the speaker of these words,
Turns to park at the curb, walking past the park benches and birds
Disturbed, a quick gasp exhumes from her gaping mouth,
The shaping clouds casts a gloom on her son not making a sound
Cries into the night, blood clots stop the puddle of life,
Sighs are not heard through the dimness located in his eyes
That are open...
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Twas' a sorrowful day, head low as I exited the hospital doors..
Finally decyphered why the mole on my foot has been so sore..
Sitting silently beneath the wall mount, waiting for that call,
from he who pronounces my well-being, he who tells it all..
Clock struck 6, the chattering ring started, my sweat runs cold..
Arguing with thine self, refusing to answer, fearing what i'll be told..
Stern voice flows over the line, appearing his voice is weak..
For it seems I have a chronic illness, and further help I should seek..
A month staggers by, medical aide? I havent given them a shout..
Effects taking place, beneath my cap lays folicles of hair that have fallen out..
Feel ill, thine eyes deceive me? Has thine skin turned yellow..
How come no human can hear thy screams when I bellow?
Heart racing fast, saying a prayer as I prepare for his final answer..
Struck with awe, it seems i've been diagnosed with terminal cancer..
Sleep has yet to be bestowed upon thee', I know now how it is to be ill..
Glass filled to the brim, down that while I inhale all these bedtime pills..
Enduring surgeries subsequently, becoming difficult to hang on..
Living life under the needle, Give up? No I shall maintain and stay strong..
Bitter it seems, I snickered in the faces of those who suffered this harm..
Used to be blivious, now I truley feel the wrath of karma..
Alienated from civilazation, an actual life is what disease has stole..
Seperated from family, my wife my son, my ceasar is now an I.V. pole..
Olympic sprinter was my dream, to think I was only a tenth of a second away..
Overcome with joy of achievement, I walked 2 steps unattended today..
Given insight, Three years left before my body is due to self destruct..
Mind is deteriorating, IQ test scores lower and thoughts cant construct..
Infatuated with death and corosion, thine body has begun to deplete..
Struggled throughout thine life to succeed, and that makes me complete.
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He catches flies, tricked into the web; life's still a mystery,
When will the time come, where we don't have to struggle for victory? |