Topsy Turvy,
Pulled from the Inside Out.
With arms of frustration wailed feverishly in the air; she gives up.
She lets go of all that she had hoped because there is nothing left to grasp.
Scabbed knees, bruised hands and an etch stained heart,
She continues to cling with the little she has left; but lacks the strength to carry on.
' I cannot....' she thinks with grief,
'What is there left for me?'
'I am but one in a billion of persons; all struggling not to win at this race but just to finish,
Just to make it....
She looks up in anger, screaming out: 'If it were up to I dear Lord, I would not continue!'
'Remove me from this place of great discordance,'
'I cannot bear this on my own.'
'I've been tarnished,
'I am but a faint shadow of what I once was...'
