There I am in front of a screen,
Fantasising what my life could never be.
Characters who make up the perfect story,
A world with happy endings.
Why is it that the reality,
Is a journey so irksome,
Makes me despise living,
Though it’s not all that deplorable.
But perfection is just an illusion,
I can only live them through my dreams,
Where the deepest of my desires,
Roam free, unleashed.
Everyday is a battle,
But it is an internal conflict.
Waking up is such a struggle,
Telling myself “it’s okay” is another.
It’s another minute, another hour, another day.
Time’s flying, it doesn’t wait.
Yet it feels as though it froze,
I’m stuck; I can’t move on,
But I so badly want to.
It’s unfortunate how,
This too shall remain,
As a desire, yet a bane.