When the well runs dry,
I think I’d rather die,
Than face another day,
Like the one that came my way!
Less than thirty on the clock,
Something hit me like a rock,
To the head, it bashed,
And like a storm it lashed,
Simple email, message said,
Well what it said,
Filled me with dread,
Already tired,
Just worn out,
I didn’t scream (I gave a shout)
Disbelief, anger, rage,
Filled with loathing, at the page,
Head shakes and eyes,
Water, tears,
Another one of many fears,
A person whose support I need,
And who failed miserably at deed,
Whose betrayal keenly felt,
Has a glorious hand been dealt,
That same hand stabbed me in back,
But there they are,
Right on track,
A place on high, an elevation,
Whilst I must live,
Die in frustration,
So unjust, so unfair,
How could they, did they,
Put them there ?
No competition, nothing raised,
Apart from them,
Then hugely praised,
Fawning colleagues,
Congratulate,
But, for me, it’s now too late,
I’m hurt, I’m sad, and now I’m weeping,
Yet more cause, to stop me sleeping,
So undeserved, so cruelly done,
But yet I feel I’m just the one,
Who sees injustice in decision,
But why speak out,
And face derision,
Shouldn’t have happened,
No, not at all,
But as they rise,
Then I must fall,
So, and when the well runs dry,
Another piece of me just died.
