i seek no solace,
because what i have can’t be replaced.
i’m laughing, i’m joking and jesting with you,
you can see that big grin upon my face and it looks picture perfect,
i look like a gorgeous, adorable celebrity diva,
but do you know that all these are just an empty hallmark?
deep down in me, i don’t know what happiness refers to,
i only pretend on the surface to be on cloud nine.
i really am sick with no insight on what next to do.
You are reading: Hopeless by Awe Jesujoba Isaac
it’s the best thing to be in my shoes, well, you can imagine,
to be rich, famous and extravagant,
inspite of all these,
i wish i could trade it all for happiness, for peace of mind,
but this mask can’t be replaced.
i’m dying, but no one sees it. no one can.
my light is slowly dimming in flicker,
can’t you see?
i live in luxury,
a life of fame—
flash! flash! flash!
another beaming flash bursting dazzles, razzle-dazzles!
i’m that adorable angel with high recommendation that you desire,
but is it worth it?
i don’t feel contented,
i don’t feel fulfilled.
here i am, in this stupendous, exuberant dissatisfaction.
even with these high living, i still find out that i’m depressed.
almighty dollars don’t solve it all, it’s risky.
beauty isn’t the quick fix either, it’s a makeshift credit,
it will fly away like a bat out of hell.
so then, what’s it?
what’s the cut?
the remark, what’s it?
i decided once that if i don’t make it, then i haven’t truly lived,
now that i have the world at my feet,
how can i say i have truly lived?
what’s the proof? show me evidence,