Maybe you are exhausted like I’m exhausted. Masked with depression behind the make up. I no longer want to wake up and sleep too. My cloud of tears keeps on raining and still, I can’t find rest when my eyes close at night.

The night too helps me escape the reality of the light. The light that never sways me to the right for me to win the fight. They keep on watering me for shine but noo Mr Wither is the partner we dine with, that’s why I never find dreams in the sleep you chase. Will I ever win the race? Or do I lack grace?

My life is unease and airy, I guess that’s why I stopped making notes in my diary. Coated with wrinkles under that beautiful paint. The holy always attacking me with a volley of words until I stopped trusting glory. My calendar stained with hatred agendas. And fate has being a word I lastly read in my dictionary till to date.

Step one, was my parents who never cared about my talent and words I would not lend. Two; was my friend who taught me how to smoke and dragged me to an end. Three; was the guy who cheated to always spoil me and never to toil. Four; was a foursome itself that’s why I still hate sums. And five; is the make up that I still hide my identity behind but never thrive.
The rest has been my toughest test until I became exhausted with the footprints they lingered me with.

©Joshua Kyama