It’s 4 in the morning, and nothing feels right,
The world is quiet, wrapped in the cloak of night.
But my mind stirs, tired and worn,
From battles fought yesterday, and those yet to be born.
For years I’ve stood in this endless gray,
Trapped in a cycle, day after day.
I hate the world, its harsh, cruel guise,
And yet I rise, though my spirit cries.
When did living turn into this fight?
A battle for breath, from dawn to night.
Questions choke me, inside and out,
Am I in purgatory, lost in doubt?
I see the world pass, in groups they go,
Like rain’s soft drizzle, steady and slow.
But here I stand in my shadowed abyss,
Dreaming of freedom, of life I miss.
I crave fresh air, not these suffocating sighs,
I want to live under open skies.
Yet death tempts me, a siren’s call,
Promising peace, an end to it all.
But is this hell, or is it just life?
A ceaseless storm, a world of strife?
I long to escape, to break and be free,
To find the version of life meant for me.
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