And here, this battle again!
I'm giving up! No I'm not.
I'm buried in these voices that keeps sounding,
And resounding in my head.
I'm faced with this battle all alone,
Battling with these strange voices,
That keeps echoing in my head.
Forgive me Mr judge if I take my life.
Everything they want me to become is,
What I'm dying to become.
And everything I want to become is,
What I've never lived to become.
I'm tired, tyred, tied, to anxiety.
Give me a torch to illuminate and vacate this darkness,
This slum is too heavy for me to carry.
You said I should feel free to express myself,
To gain my freedom.
But, no! That's not what I'm seeing here.
Every night when I rest my head to sleep,
My head becomes a living room,
Stacked with a legion of questions,
Attacked by rumblings and nightmares,
Driving me crazy and insane!
Is there a land for the living in the land of the dead?
Each time I scream this question to You,
The only answer I get in return is silence.
Forgive me, Mr. Judge, if I take delight in leaving.
I'm tired of being a slave,
To these voices of despair,
Haunting and terrifying me.
Maybe the devil sold me a lie, maybe true,
That this home is a grave, and that I should use
©Aniebiet Effiong 2020