Constant, steady and still.
A mirage if you will, against a cold repelling hill.
I stagger, I stumble and fall.
Never once will I ever stand tall.
I can't cry out not call, for the fear of my vulnerability and pain.
What if I could fly?
Would I make it somehow up higher? To a better more welcoming environment I plead. I beg. I cry instead as I fade into the night. I'll never be alright.
And this life will always and forever be a constant fight.
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