How will I die?
In war, in sickness, or in a lie
I squeal from the pain that I hide
From the secret to my soul I confide
In my bed I toss and turn side to side
Pillow soaked with the tears from my eyes
I hear a whisper in my ear and I sigh
The voice of death calling time on my ride
Yet I stand , though with fear I deny
If I must live to see the light, must kill the night
As morning creeps in again I wonder when
My troubled world might return to haunt me then.
Dedicated to the secret struggle of addiction.
© Raphael Shonibárè 2018
