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.
Copyright ©
Brian Kemboi
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