DIARY OF A POET WITH BLACK HEART 🖤 (Untitled 5)

 

Nothing seems to interest me these days
Neither reading nor sleeping
Even writing seems tiring😫,
Talking to people seems exhausting
And socialising too'..... boring
Food most especially; all taste the same
And hunger unusually doesn't feel like pain
Movies and games even..... couldn't keep my brain at bay

See, most times, I just get weak,
tired and sick
And sleeping on its part, doesn't come with ease
The future too; seems blurry to see
Knowing that nothing is promised to be
Knowing we could work as hard as we need.... but still nothing achieved
Knowing our destiny and dreams could go unfulfilled.
Knowing that our end result could be nothing but filth
Knowing that the promise land is nothing but myth