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.