My mind is full, but empty.
My brain is a chaos, and my
thoughts are a mess. Yet my mouth
keeps smiling.

I'm tired, but my body keeps on going.
I want to rest, instead,
my eyes are wide awake.

The life caring on,
As does the bubble.
Becoming bigger and bigger as the
days become weeks, and
the weeks become months, and
months become years.
The life should be cheerful, but
the bubble is anything but fun.

Like a battery, my energies
are zipped out, and life feels
like a timeless mission.  
At some point,
the mission must end.
But at this rate,
It’s just a dream.

Dreams don’t become true.
You have to work for them,
not wish for them.
But working is tiring and
this line has no end.

I don’t know how long I can keep
this act. I should talk,
but talk feels like attention.
My mouth is shut. This is
my mission, not theirs.

This bubble is my life
now. Much more comfortable
than the outside.