Digging your own Grave?
Digging your own Grave? How eager your lips spill with contempt for any step you must take. Never forced to be as you are, yet you slither with slime, sulking in the suffering of your own making. Your eyes drivel with tears as if the world should feel pity. Your back slouched in answer of your own lack of self confidence. You confine your sorrows in drinks or, the bitter taste of your sour tongue. Contorting words with jealousy as you waddle your way with billowed blame. Your heavy heart rests at the bottom of your gut, like a forgotten memory, rotting. Stuck in a rut, your eyes fixed downward. Looking to your feet as you raise your hand to the sky with a finger of criticism of those that speak well. You kneel as the soils beneath your frail bones become sullied in tears. No longer can it bear the standing pressure of your chiding thoughts. You must spread your weight upon your soft ground. Your foundation is uncertain. ...