Whether if they're easy
or perhaps only cloudy,
yet still persists the possibility
some consumed of immobility.

Made from the fabric of broken dreams
pieced together in this effortless jiffy
as to hide the truth behind these seams,
that way no one could never even truly see
how my eyes have become a grayish blue.

I've lost control over what I can show,
merely a puppet with a cruel puppeteer
misleading me to think I have free will.
Trying to find a motive in this quiet torso
which isn't reassuring me that I'm alive,
so I could survive a battle that's all uphill.
But is going onwards still what I owe?
I'm guessing so, fighting away the night
mercilessly as they've been trained to ****.

No ears hear these smothered screams
or can ever tell if I'm feeling quite iffy,
for their too clever with their schemes
as I will always be letters from being free
and seeing this life from a brighter view.

When it's been pouring heavy all day
then this feeling comes and always befuddles.
A couple cuts to make demons obey
rather I should jump in some muddy puddles.

Living in only a miniscule millisecond
then of the universe's forever lasting life,
receiving all tortures just as reckoned
for where we are has so much strife.

Before your neurons can even fire
or your brain could process anything,
It's too late to save this situation so dire
and keep this soul you're worshiping.

Thinking I have made the best moves
keeps me in an unmoving progression,
of attempting recovery on ground lost
from precipitous decisions I've chosen.

Trying my best yet nothing improves
since I still haven't given a confession,
the one that I'm alive but at what cost
till I do I shall remain forever frozen.

So won't something, anything,
motivate this stalemate I'm in.