in this population explosion,
its called emotional errosion.
can I pour out my heart to you?
would you do the same too?
There are no true friends,
only fakers, awaiting your end,
laughing to you face to face,
ready to stab you if you turn about-face.
Everyone’s in a rat race,
working for money,
in order to make the pace,
make two ends meet and you’ll be free.
But two ends will never meet,
so frustration begets dejection,
despair all over head to feet,
then comes the thought of self-destruction,
after living on the edge,
the edge of the abyss,
the abyss of the unknown,
the unknown – greatly feared.
BOOM!!! the party is over,
all alone in a dark room,
groping hopelessly for a light switch,
everyone – please run for cover,
or become a casuality,
no security in any corner-
trust not the witty,
or you may be lost forever.
So much meaninglessness,
so many with a lack of purpose,
is it because of this distress,
that their goals are in a comatose?
creeping over such, like a fog,
some mysterious mistyness
blocking your way like a log,
can’t see aright,
can’t think aright,
therefore, confined to silence,
living the present in past tense,
hoping that something better will happen,
and into more emptiness driven,
but who can help anyway,
when we’re all in the same ash-tray
Its all about stuggles, here and there,
coming from somewhere, but going nowhere.
Copyright © 2003 Tokunbo Ajewole