68.

I spent nights in hell,

As if some kind of spell.

At times I failed,

Wondering why I’m trapped in jail.

My mental status,

Declining like gas in traveling.

On this long journey,

I ran fast as if hurried, but I felt buried.

Deep nights I worried,

I’ve drowned surely.

But now I see, that I need to work on me.

Hopeless romantic,

I feel shame in all of my antics.

Love slips out of my hand,

Whenever I’m poetic and manic.

Hopelessly in panic,

I feel like I’m stranded.

My emotions are purest,

Whenever I’m trying to stand it.

When I am trying to handle it,

It seems unmanaged.

After I sip, after I breathe:

I write with ever in ease,

Seeing that this life is a dream…

And as my wrists that would bleed, only crisps to the touch.

As my wrists ever bleeds,

I feel a blissful rush.

But enough, affirm life.

Through storms, I confirm life…