I always run out of things to write about.
It always happens.
Then i look back at my life and try to envision what it would be like if all of my dreams were real.
I close my eyes and I fail to imagine it.
I am not able to find words.
Mouth runs dry save for a cold breath.
If only I could tell you how it feels.
This exact feeling when I am hopeless with everything.
When future isn’t a bright promise but a nightmare.
These cribs about an unjust and unfair existence.
Say mind is free and soul is forever young.
But mine is reduced to a failed imagination.
There are things I tried when I was desperate.
Mind me If I say I’ve lived the 24 hours of a single day inviting hope when I laboured on.
Hope came when I was down,
It lifted me into the high skies where I saw the Sun and felt its warmth on my skin.
It was all, a moment.
Hope is gone now and the Sun burns my skin.
I have forgotten the emotions I used to feel while crying.
Dry eyes ache but they do not conceal anything.
I am done with disappointments.
I have forgotten what they meant and how they affected me.
For all the care in this world,
None is for me.
Life isn’t roses and sunshine and it isn’t fair.
All I can say is that the thorns are picky about people.
Call it cynicism, pessimism or whichever word you deem right.
Doubts flicker as I know things.
There is no fight with the world.
It knows me well to spare me.
Plight is just a thing said to cover the big picture.
And this life that people so often speak about,
They attribute words to deepen its significance.
Nothing is significant and none is worth saving.
Religion and money should be synonyms for life.
For everything said and done in this brief life of mine I have understood nothing.
I could feel love in my flesh and bones.
Only if it had something to do with my hunger.
I am hungry and this feeling is the worst there is.
I want to break out of this cycle but it is not allowed.
I must confine myself to these breaths and hopes.
Running away is not an option.