Lips still, eyes stoic
I live a life that is problematic
By my own hand, things unfolding
I am to blame for my undoing
Cornered by my anxieties,
A puppet to my fears,
Swallowing my screams
And drowning in tears.
Why can't I call for help?
Why can't I show my struggle?
My cries are silent,
My voice, inaudible.
And so I dream in the day
Impossible dreams, I must say
Of a life that's perfect,
A room drenched in sunlight,
An alternate universe where I finally do things right.
