Deceit is my custom. I am the trophy of my home The joy giver to my family The honored and respected Gratified not hindered But yet I disappoint, In war with my thoughts and heart. It's exhausting When I try to step away from, from the smoldering fire It attracts me like looking at a cosmetic set in a magazine. The falsehood population is increasing, I try to cease this deed, so that I can conduct reputable ethics. It's a habit. An overflow of bad conscious, humiliation, ill repute. Defeat and despair is seen in the eyes of my nurse Whom I am not a burden too. I'm agitated. The desire to want to become the opposite It's like a tortoise which tries to sprint but fails Which tries to jump but failure possesses. It is the failure whom I fail to overcome, it tricks me, But still over powered. I am to be blamed, as I am the cause of this massacre The massacre which I cannot defeat, the massacre which took over my life, So I stay as the massacre that cannot be resolved. -Tshepang Laka