The River

If you look at a river , there are parts of it that flow really fast , speeding away caught up in the current , but every so often there are little parts , deep parts, that just go round and round in circles , while the rest of the water streams past. I see the fast flowing water as my friends, flying past me on to bigger and better things, and the small deep cave, just swelling round and round in circles, thats me, round and round I go, every step dieing to reach the fast flowing river of life, but every step just isn't close enough, the infuriating feeling of being so close, yet so far away. Round and round I go as friends slip away, round and round , screaming reaching out for that hand to pull me back into the fast flow that life is , but still round and round I go.
Round and round my little pit , getting filled with the litter of the river as it speeds past, getting the filth and the dirt and having to watch while the whole world speeds by , and I'm there, in my little cave , round and round and round. Never the sunrise on my face, never the chance to shine, never noticed, just lingering, circling, in a world of resentment that never ends.