finish the race
My heart feels like
and open wound.
Touch it and it burns.
My heart's clang sounds out of tune.
I never know which way to turn.
It's hard to breathe
as the enemy teethes
on me:
My mind, heart, spirit
makingy ou harder to see clearly.
Me, myself, and I
are the threesome
I don't want to be apart of.
They constantly hold me down and back
making me a clown who lacks
purpose.
Everything I do,
Everything I think,
Everything I say till my face turns purple-blue,
will never be able to conduct its own way
like Zn.
Look into your past;
take the dots and link
the good with the bad
the happy with the sad
the confused and understood
memories;
use them as fine wood
to ever feed your hunger to finish the race.