Breathless

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Image result for suicidal
Photo Credit: speakingofsuicide.com

Find me shackled here
Where my breath is harvested
from my chest by torture-pregnant days
Where my blood and sweat are siphoned
into the pocket of others
The fuel that fills their existence
with the energy of luxury
That which I desire a mere drop of
I might have forgotten to carry my personal oasis into hell
I don’t have the strength to flee
But I need some strength to go on
That is what keeps calling out to me
The hope of a fresh strength
But I am done. Almost.
What I need to get me there
It never seems enough
Maybe this is home, hell
Or maybe I was never meant to be free
Maybe I was not meant to be well-loved
I was not meant to live, to leave.
I was not meant to drink of the rivers
that run deep on the beds of plenty
The tides of joy were never supposed to know my name
as they rise and fall
I am the burnt offering that did not choose to be offered
I am the meat that the fire has come to love
I am the wanderer whose compass only points south
The traveler who moves only in circles
I am the dying dead who wants to die
but still lives not knowing where, when and how to leave
The whys are more than enough
I am ripe for killing, daily
I am ripe for suffering, every day
I can’t feel tired anymore
I am just a piece of breathless meat!

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Published by: Akyempo

i met the Priest...i realised that though society seems to respect the baker and despise the shepherd, the baker is not happy despite his stability and the shepherd is free to pursue the pyramids, because he is a dreamer; and one day he will meet Fatima. I am the boy; the shepherd.

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