grueling

floating up in vast space,

growing up in that place

where a lingering trace

of my dwindling grace

opened the door,

striking my core,

crawling on the floor,

can’t seem to ignore

my plateauing life score

the mirror’s an eyesore,

i’ve desperately longed for

decreasing self-abhor,

but i’ll become a martyr

who will never get smarter.

devour the sweet

and the bitter taste

of sour defeat

at a withering pace.

the steep stairs to climb

are jagged and drab,

the demons of time

can rarely be stabbed.

the glistening, sheer vibrance of hope

requires years on the tightrope,

somehow i’ve managed to stay alive,

someday i hope my vigor revives.