I am losing track of my lines,my virtues,my purpose.
The food gets tasteless by the day.
Its like I am falling with my back turned towards the ground.
I anticipate the smashing of my head on the hard concrete of my fate.
They are slipping away from my fingers.
There's no more life in my grip.
My fist is weak,
My bones yearn for comfort.
But I am still young.
No young death.
Because I see a stronger Hand coming to my rescue one day.
It will find me in this gabbage I live in.
I will be dusted and be cleaned once more.
I wait, I wait, I wait !
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