My ambition is dead,
As dead as an accident with a lot of red.

I seek no comfort, I feel no pain.
The only aim is to pretend to be sane.

Self hate I'm over so I stay satisfied,
But I feel no fire, just dead inside.

The feeling of falling is all too real,
Only because there isn't a fear.

It feels weird to dream no more,
To never reach for something, tire and snore.

Like I have deleted the file .exe
Without which an error is my directory.

I've no idea how to get my ambition reset.
Like a husk I remain, deteriorating stead.
…….

I know and I would like to make you happy,
But how can I, while my own is lacking.

Sometimes I try to shake it off and get cracking,
But then I break, I starve, I smoke and get slacking.

This is not a cry for help nor a plea for pity,
Just for me and you to see me ugly.

Will I ever be happy? Will I ever be cool?
I await my miracle, like a stupid human fool.

Tell me and be honest,
What were you thinking while you built this abandoned nest in my chest.

…