I have lost the plot

The struggle, the pain is visible from the lines on the face. The continuous need to be free, clearly narrated by the blisters on the fingers. They came past your space for you to acknowledge, learn and be better a people. The tears did not fall on deaf ears rather on thirsty grounds. When all you live for is the fight for survival in this demo-crazy. Noone is going to listen. Monologues and words live not to tell the tale rather twist the knife and push it further in the back of those who really knew what time it was and still know. What do you require of my sanity? Ngoba noba ungang'bulala ngek'uwathol'amandlami nje, ufuna ngithini? The initial step into the madness showed no thorns but perfectly trimmed roses, maybe that was the plan. Wallow im my misery, convince me that its all worth my while while all i see is broken dreams, memories in shabbles-what the fuck was all of this supposed to be about? Truely, i have lost the plot