Too busy outside.
Too busy inside.
It’s not much fun to live in this world.
It used to be at least interesting, every morning something new.
Now I just hope for peace.
Being able to do the things that I had planned. But more things start coming in.
The night was not long enough.
Getting up, trying to manage through the day.
Planning for the end.
Trying to exist.
Nothing matters, I don’t care, just some things matter like the people and stuff I leave behind.
When I’m gone and when I’m ready.
When I love and when I’m free, forever I demand.
This is not my place to be so it’s a prison.
Is it for the collective or just me?
I’m a part of everything so it’s never disconnected, but it’s my journey.
Fitted for me.
And I have to get through it.
Accept it, sometimes not accept it, sometimes love something.
But hating most.
Too busy outside, noise.
Too busy inside, stuff to do.
Places to be or not to be.
They used to be opportunities mostly, what can I do, where can I go?
I still try but my path has become so narrow.
It’s even hard to walk at all, every step takes time and courage.
And I don’t like it.
I’m so over it.
The path is long and narrow, it’s my fate.