Falling
The ground keeps calling...
I think this one speaks for itself.
Falling 08/28/2006 David C. Roberson
I wish I was a better man, that I could actually make a stand. But friendships fail, slip through my hands as life pounds me deep into the sand. But I’ve been used, and I've used others. I've been blessed with friends as brothers. I've felt trapped, and I've felt smothered while feeling lonely, while wanting another. I've seen some storms. I've seen some rain: the real, wet kind and metaphorical strain. The seaside splash of salty wash, the falling leaves, the windy frost, summer’s blister and winter’s cold. I've felt shackled, I've felt old. I've been on the brink of death, while smelling rot on fate's foul breath. Tussled, tossed, rejecting rest, fatigue fueling surging stress. And there were times I could not eat, when my feet felt like concrete, my muscles failed and screamed, “Retreat!” Depression’s drive— to breed defeat. Life's been great, and life’s fuckin’ sucked. I've been free, and I've been stuck. I've crossed rivers, I've climbed trees, I've felt the sun and bathed in breeze. I've run races, I've stood still, I've guzzled water, I've swallowed pills, I've shaken my head with aim of stalling, nodded while kneeling, crawling, walking— the on-lookers kept on shit-talking. But no matter what I do, the ground keeps calling. I rise to fight, but I keep falling.
||I've been on
the brink of death,
while smelling rot
on fate's foul breath.🖤