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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Reality is A broken mirror reflects ultimate terror. The reality is We all have the ability to get the pain when expectations run away from our brain. The reality always hits you. Forget it, even if I told you, you probably wouldn’t wanna hear it. An accursed life without a hope of sincerity, Listen as I spit these words with meaning and clarity. The truth reveals monstrosities many don’t wanna hear it, Debate all you want but do you really think you can handle it? no, coz this is my reality and you cannot have it. even if you were given the opportunity to enter it, the truth is, this is my reality and you probably won’t understand it… loneliness gives way to hope Respectfully declined, lost in vengeful victory Where love triumphs and hope is a futile answer Where feelings, dreams and destiny have been stolen Given freely, tempted by life, we control fate If you’re in the game, you’ve already won give up the mediocrity coz my life without a doubt is built on my idiosyncrasies that not even the madmen could possibly hope to imitate, Listen as I regurgitate the truth, my well being consists of needles and drugs which makes my body quiver with hope, do me a favour and just hand me a rope, to terminate my existence in an instance, coz I cannot take this pain any longer, I mean just yesterday I felt but stronger. but reality like a thousand slaps across the face serves as a constant reminder which I hate to embrace, that death draws nearer, life’s not fair as I gasp for air in the emergency room, reaching to God to give me breath. But the heavy beating of my heart pounds loudly against my chest, as the doctors and nurses rush in to stabilize my condition, fighting to stay alive becomes a losing battle, as my body rattles from the electronic gadget trying to bring me back to life, strife is the language between my heart and mind, as the alarm beeps faster, shock takes over, as flat line occurs then the doctor says… he’s gone, contact family members as I fill in this report, Young black male in his mid twenties cause of death is depression as the sound from the machine fades. It has never before been so clear to me that, in these dark days of silent moments The grave is the only cure for our vile ways. Sometimes imagination is my only friend Mind over matter, there’s no strings With a leap of faith, interpretation speaks quietly Without an audience, reality is but an illusion Waiting for answers, charging forward Faith carries its own club, I don’t know but that’s just my reality, What’s yours…?
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