Life getting any better,
like words wrote on a death letter.
Mailed to a recipient dead,
left to blind eyes unread.
Terror has its tight hold,
in a world gleaming ice cold.

I may not get any better,
but I refuse to be evils babysitter.
Getting better in a world gone mad,
hard as going happy to everyday glad.
I don't ponder on getting better much,
just maintaining denotes in touch.

Not getting any worse,
breaking the backwards curse.
So many end up sliding back,
as life continues its cruel attack.
If we can simply maintain,
there's room to always gain.
It's easier to move forward,
if we don't travel to far backward.

Slip sliding away,
we all must delay,
fight the devil everyday,
if we want to excel,
instead of fail.

G

G