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 by Jabulani Mumba 

I can see the cracks, broken hearts, broken pieces,

People searching for glue,

Lord pull us out the deep end,

The church neglects our pain, they say it’s self-inflicted,

Our friends refuse to help, say they can’t see the issue,

So we keep it to ourselves, the pain we feel inside,

Because no one else can help, this will not subside,


We cut, to bleed out the pain,

Yes it hurts,

But it’s the only way we know to stay sane,

A constant high to keep us in lane, because life only dealt us demise.

Our only friend is a needle, we got the scars to prove it,

People say that it’s pathetic, but we crave this anesthetic


I know it sounds dumb this need to feel numb,

But I’ve tried everything I know, so I pull out my gun………

With hands shaking, tears flowing and sweat dripping off my palms,

I raise the gun to my face, and like a soldier steady my arm,


‘’Wouldn’t you rather die in this place? Be a man and stare death in its face?!’

Or live a life where no one understands, Just how far you fell from grace”.

But what if I’m better than this?

Mann what will my parents think?

And I’ve been in church pews a lot lately,

Say God won’t accept people who take this exit,


But I can’t go back to the pain,

To the neigh Sayers who stomp on my name, so…

“click, click”

The gun clocked in hand,

I bid farewell to this earth and end it with a “bang”

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