I have been taunted in sleep by nightmares, the constant groaning of my engiush. as I have, over the years, been engraving myself to the pride of my giftings. I take a pencil trying to draw a map of where i could possible find myself, but i keep ending up near a refuse bin, oh how my gifts have led me astray. The me cannot be found in these spaces i seek, empty spaces of galloping courpes trying to get pass life with golden shavols digging mortal graves; the pride and greed that have laid them to waste.
Blinded by these illusions of 'the money makes the world go around', corporate creaps administer justice the way they see fit, while the "ungifted" sits in ignorance pushing for bed and breakfast. Most people never used their gift, while mine has led me on a search beyond these cemetries that bury our mind in confusion; 'it' another government dilema, but what did Malema say'. I pay my way to recognition with silver coins that crucified the Messiah to the grim reaper to ' please ease your foot off the gas of combustion', while pop-in another idea to parliamental law of legalising prostitution "we will call it sex work". Atleast one works his way to the flames. But as the reaper continues drilling deep in our hearts with claws of his steam for new civilised destruction ideas, souls get lost in the heat of the moment.
Man's own righteousness feeding of his own soul, a moul that leave our souls empty of self yet filled with a gifted mind, a vassel that fades away slowly like smoke as a captured image on tombstones of "well-lived-lives". As we 'Rest In Peace......
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