Lost in Reality

Lost in reality,

found in dreams,

locked behind the glass of temporary exile,

trying to adapt to a hostile world.

I need ten steps to make one,

I'm cold both in my body and my heart,

tricking myself into believing there is an escape,

or even a way back.

Counting days,

walking a road with no destination,

heading towards decay,

smoking my lungs to ash,

and overloading my liver with poison to survive the hardship of this journey –

trying to cope,

to shapeshift,

to adapt.

Putting masks to mimic smiles,

learning languages and collecting tools

so I can configure this machine

which I'm supposed to run with no catalogue,

this machine whose pedals are further than my legs can reach,

to fix this coat that is too big to wear

and too small for me to be able to move.

So I can survive this city that is:

too big that I feel too small,

and too small that I feel so dead.

I'm sorry I am like this,

I'm sorry I couldn't choose a better me;

a better me who doesn't run, chasing clouds.

I'm sorry that I'm like this: entangled, vague, and unclear.

I'm sorry that I had to hide behind my masks in order to be here.

I wish, I wish I could've done better.

I wish I could've gathered different tools.

I wish I could have said no when I should have said no.

I wish I could have a clear mind to say what I feel.