I am nothing but a lumped knapsack of hopes

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….