Struggle

I'm sick of the struggle.
The uphill battle I constantly face.
The decision on whether or not to stay
or leave from this place.
This poem won't even express it.
It'll come out to cliche and I'm okay with that because in the end,
I'm just here to help lend a hand, be their little chat.

The money is fading,
The future is foggy.
I'm constantly shaking from the feelings I can't explain.
Or maybe I can but I won't.
Because then it'll be my name used in vain.

And then after it all slips up,
I ruin my sobriety and let go.
I ruin what was left of me,
Say fuck it and take a sip from the cup.

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