First World Problems

First World Problems

First World Problems
Image by: Captured Synchronicity

Tick
The dusk of each forsaken day births the dawn of a disappointing tomorrow.
Tock.
My heaving chest rises then falls, heavy and strained; each respiration a chore for my weary soul.
Tick
Broken and defeated, yet optimistic for her; I muster the courage to try again. I’ll always try again.
Tock.
Feigning the vigor to succeed, I discover only problems with no solutions; cages with no doors.
Tick.
Dispirited and tormented, trapped within a cyclone of my own failure and self-defeat.
Tock.
Hope destroyed by fathers sins; Forever enslaved within a game I cannot win.
Tick
Fulfill the routine drudgery; eat to stay alive. Try to ignore the nagging pain as my will slowly dies.
Tock.
Anxiety builds as my moments succumb to time; Consequently, life falls by the second, like rain wasted in the ditch.
Tick
Churning, burning, my stomach wrenched in woe; starving for a freedom my mind will never know.
Tock.
No longer can I gaze into the eyes of my wife, afraid she’ll finally see the depth of the agony inside.
Tick
Hungry, beaten, exploited and raped; my malady is menial to the abused; yet still I hurt
Tock.
Foolish and selfish, I bring her down with my cries; wailing like a child and I don’t know why.
Tick
I don’t want to die hollowed from the pain. I’ll always try again.
Tock.

 

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