I am tired of the prayers said and
all the dreams that have been laid out.
All the wants and needs.
The things my eyes see and my ears hear.
I am tired of the sound of my voice.
The color of my blood and skin and the hairs on it.
I am tired of being an option or a prize.
Of being told of things I can and I cannot do.
Of living or existing.
Of memories and imaginations.
Of being me.
I am exhausted of thoughts piled upon thoughts,
Failing to erupt like volcanoes holding on to their climax
And taking lives with them.
This matrix I am trapped in feels like an illusion;
With a puppet master who can break my will and wipe me off.
Yet He still watches me endure it all.