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.