Often, my imaginations are my saviors
When there are no lights outside
And my eyes are misdirected among invisible clouds
Hope, the only tangible material to my hands
Catching myself during falling is a habit
Thank Him, at least I got something to be deceived by.
Nevertheless, a few days remain before my eternal peace,
Before the sun finally rises upon me  
Before night gives birth to countless ideas of nothing real

Is it hard for me to accept myself, stop looking at others, develop my own voice, search for my own way, gave a rest for my brain, burn the pattern?
The pressure I feel among the crowd got me tiring my skin up until the blood come out it.
I put the heavy weight of my overthinking on my writing talent, but has a writer the right to be happy and live with peace inside.
Admitting the fact that my life would be a blessing for anybody, got me nervous consistently.
Does He love me? Does He still have a room to think my fate in His busy lifestyle?
Is there a peace on earth for me? Are there clear explanations for my everlasting complaints? Do I have equal rights to breathe along side with some whom it needs more?
Can you let me forgive myself? Can you take your hands out of mines and keep the distance forever?
Mister, you been with me my whole life, I am grateful for the times when you were absent, thus, I could feel the taste of the life,
But, now, I think its time for you to leave my house and never ever put your feet on it again.
HE/HIS refers to God