At The Edge Poem by August de Leon

I hate control from others
Hate that life is chained to everyone
Hate that theres nothing i can do
Hate there is a quicksand under my feet

Try to live a life without the hand of the chess player
Try to become the foot that steps out of the circle
Try to flee from the hailing shouts of unneeded brawls
Crawl out of that dirt hole, wasted times inside

Trapped under a cloudy dim sky eating everyone
Feeding myself worms for breakfast
Hopes show up but leaves in a day
Show up to a crowd, im an outcast and proud of it

Dead are my legs, someone hit it with a bat
I only crawl now through a desert of grave
Slapped by the wind in the head, the own air i breath
It leaves me sometimes to suffocate

Track your mistakes, your brain dies slowly
Have no heart, the more it gets harder for you
Have no soul, the more you are closer to death
Have that light, it dims before you get there