SCARS OF LIFE!

(IN REDUNDANT FORM)

Tired of being tired of being tired… Because of the same ole shit. Foot move forward then fall back from another scheduled hit… Like bricks weighing down a whole journey built, square one again rooted with the same ole shit withered and soul mentally dying. Drained for trying, slowly not wanting to live like the lathargically mundane, yet scorned by the past on every inch of the way riddled with unsung pain, yet these understandings aren’t even meant to be understood — back then, to now, today, really it’s more than not good! So hey, fuck building an empire when energies aren’t aligned, fuck a legacy when the frequencies are in line, fuck this shit as depression has started it’s shine and reminds that the lane is now clear that life ain’t shit but a waste of real time, trying to chase a dream goes epic fail in thee, sought out ways but attracting talkers who feed off of hopes and dreams. Giving up is the only option when exhausted ways turns to days, weeks, hell years of madness, regrets and utter sadness. Status this to last name that change with past ultimatiums, the for front where nothing seem to remain is unjust past. This too shall pass. Living as a weak soul trapped in shell of dust. Mass thoughts of serial writings, emotions caught in transition of awkward feelings, reeling, reeking of nothing left. What can save a dying dream? What is the neosporin that can heal the scars of life.

Meniskos tha Great

Aka

The Real Moody Human

Who is an

Urban Psalmist

(First poem of 2019)