3 WORDS, 1 SWORD

Just thought of the B-word, Perhaps it’s tied to the F-word. Now I feel like the S-word— They all strike sharp, like a sword. Cutting both edges, cold and fierce, Though I remain just a piece. But my mind pleads for peace, To understand and release. B for bad, of what just came, I hoped for more, maybe fame. Yet the result spelled more shame, Replaying like a cursed game. It’s F, etched on the cover page— Failing at life, stuck at this age. Both my career and my wage, And my end, I cannot gauge. Sick is how it feels inside, Falling hard, with love as my guide. No one warned how much this kills— Though love once lifted me up hills. I failed again, lost the test, To give it my very best. Perhaps I should have copy-paste, For now, it’s all a waste.