So full and zealous with life ,but tired of it.
Constance is that thought of a sprawling bullet entering mines skull.
Like a cue stick striking the white ball all in the aim for the 8.
Hate it when am always right , for it drives a wedge splitting me into two.
On a corner at an edge am sited contemplating harder.
My situation is nothing but abit sadder , but whose isn’t?
Self empathy nor sympathy won’t work this time.
For the lord Almighty whose called you and I has fully shaped our said destiny.
Sir. George Githunguri
© Oct 2016