The game of Life acts as a diary;
a replica of our Momentous actions in part
With my mental issues, trust issues, and tramas
I started 20 spaces behind the start

Generations below me pass me by rapidly
conquring the board without a care
I crawl one space forward completely winded
the game of Life isn't fair

I must keep my eyes, my head, and my hopes down
For if I squint to see the end on the horizon
It's not only far away
but potentially just an illusion