I feel like death is fucking calling me!
Reaching out its cold embrace, tightening its grip around my neck
I feel the comfort of a time once touched, pass… and slip away,
As the consistent flashes of a life once missed in its endeavours.
The crippled posture of my hunted hindered existence
Bringing the plague of my bewildered demise along the
Trembling path, Called… life.
Could it be stunning, the way the frontiers of our existence
is made to look out at a very bleak prospect in ever-changing motion.
I have been afraid of the confrontation between me and the so-called
Goodness I have allowed myself the primitive glimpse off.
Scary… Isn’t it just! …
The prevailing stampede of the experiences we go through in the
everyday progression of our lives.
Fuck the preppie; I’ve had enough of the predominant attitude of
my peers making motions of the way they see it.
Tipped to be successful at an early age!
Why then does it seem to evade my every pursuit?
After all, all I seek is mine.
Take a page out of my leaf and exude yourself in the
Unromantic flavours of a time that never existed for me.
I know death has touched my heart with the warm caress that
makes the “UNLIKELY” shudder at the comfort it brings.
The distraught that sorrow has forever embedded within each and
every one of our insanely morbid and demure minds.
I fucking see ghosts of my life in line multiplied six times by nine,
while without change I cast asunder the unrequited shroud of sorrow.
The very shadow of the promise which I have failed to receive has
given me a holy perspective stem on the individuality of self’s frame of mind.
I know death is fucking stalking me, with a very long shiny blade.
I feel the sweat glisten down my spine.
I fear no thing or man but GOD
© Seyi Sage Awolesi. Wordsmith. 020614061997 (unconsidered thoughts)