Analysis of Reality

Written by owen hamalala
Tittle reality

The Reality is
A broken mirror reflects ultimate terror.
The reality is

We all have the ability to get the pain when expectations run away from our brain.
The reality always hits you.

Forget it, even if I told you, you probably wouldn’t wanna hear it.
An accursed life without a hope of sincerity,
Listen as I spit these words with meaning and clarity.
The truth reveals monstrosities many don’t wanna hear it,
Debate all you want but do you really think you can handle it?  

no, coz this is my reality and you cannot have it.
even if you were given the opportunity to enter it, the truth is,
this is my  reality and you probably won’t understand it…

loneliness gives way to hope
Respectfully declined, lost in vengeful victory
Where love triumphs and hope is a futile answer
Where feelings, dreams and destiny have been stolen
Given freely, tempted by life, we control fate
If you’re in the game, you’ve already won

give up the mediocrity coz my life without a doubt is built on my idiosyncrasies
that not even the madmen could possibly hope to imitate,
Listen as I regurgitate the truth, my well being consists of needles and drugs
which makes my body quiver with hope,
do me a favour and just hand me a rope,
to terminate my existence in an instance,
coz I cannot take this pain any longer,
I mean just yesterday I felt but stronger.

but reality like a thousand slaps across the face
serves as a constant reminder which I hate to embrace,
that death draws nearer, life’s not fair as I gasp for air
in the emergency room, reaching to God to give me breath.
But the heavy beating of my heart pounds loudly against my chest, as the doctors and nurses rush in to stabilize my condition, fighting to stay alive becomes a losing battle,
as my body rattles from the electronic gadget trying to bring me back to life, strife is the language between my heart and mind, as the alarm beeps faster,
shock takes over, as flat line occurs
then the doctor says… he’s gone,

contact family members as I fill in this report,
Young black male in his mid twenties
cause of death is depression
as the sound from the machine fades.
It has never before been so clear to me that, in these dark days of silent moments

The grave is the only cure for our vile ways.
Sometimes imagination is my only friend
Mind over matter, there’s no strings
With a leap of faith, interpretation speaks quietly
Without an audience, reality is but an illusion
Waiting for answers, charging forward
Faith carries its own club,

I don’t know but that’s just my reality,
What’s yours…?
Written by owen hamalala
H2O