…so I let my pen sieve,

Invisible ink is oblivious to my hands trembling,

Unaware of my feelings, uncertain even of my spellings,

So I type and erase, type and retrace the steps I took to come to this inkling,

This impetus to post something new, from a thought process that grew, a monster within I wish I had slain, “Weakling”



I am in a state of crisis, inside-out I spend my days, and in doubt my nights slip away,

I have my moments, when joy is all but a ploy and happiness is a feeling I can enjoy, but not today,

For on this occasion, I’m the reason my mind has no vacation and my heart is bound to its station, all seems to be in disarray

I wax and wane like the moon, here and there then everywhere, like the thoughts of the insane, quite the month this May…



So what’s life worth to me, what do I value in it that gives me hope to, yet another day, see?

Why should I deserve the best when all I’ve given is second and third, and the quality descent continues infinitely?

What makes ME so special? Surely not my wits for I’m now unsure of their stability, if they even exist that is?

Why is it that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel when the end seems more like that of a funnel, draining into a darkness infinity?



How and when shall I get myself out of this rut, this bog I continue to sink further into, when I should have trusted my gut…

Why should I stand and say I’m to be counted when I was never there to start with? The lost nut,

Well, if there IS one thing I do know, it’s that I’m meant to end this here and now, or something like that,

While the fact remains that I fear my power to do so is hardly worthy of the task – I am but a tire flat.



Yours in perpetuity,


Evans Mbora Campbell.

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