am starting to feel that I lost my focus on everything.
Numbing my senses, with senseless media.
And sadness.
I am starting to notice that maybe it’s time to make amends.
With a familiar ripple, that hit my eyes, reflected.
Rarely leaving home I found my solace.
But it’s not by choice, it’s a designed jail cell.
I am tired of blaming, soothing confrontations.
When I should just get it together.
I am nothing but a lumped-up knapsack of hopes.
When they stale for too long, they start to rot.
Into a petroleum barrel, of tar and smoke.
Fear-born illnesses I can’t control.
I waited for a savior for way too long, but you must be one.
You must me the one.
I concluded that I am not as nice as I thought.
A series of revelations are tightening a rope.
Around my neck, can’t pretend that I want it to be over.
I am nothing but my misery, and maybe I am afraid if I healed.
I will lose the most exciting part of me.
I am worried of the fact to be perceived.
But I am dying to be seen, when I am walking.
Someone would stop me and start talking.
“you are everything I have ever dreamed of, let’s be friends.
I got you when I saw you, I could see through you.”
but it doesn’t happen.
It never actually happens. And I am glad it doesn’t.
having a sense of reality became so hard for me.
And shit stirs up and feeds my psychosis.
A lost cocktail of pills that fucked me up.
And without it I am just as futile, I can’t get up.
I am tired of waiting, opening to receive when I am the one who should start giving….