Mess

Poems are beautiful
Carefully chosen words
Beautifully crafted sentences

But this is not a poem
This is a mess
Created by a chaotic mind

That is mine

You know those eerie voices
That come and haunt you?

No, it's not at 3 am 
It's always there
Always whispering something
Something that is not good

Sometimes I win,
But most of the time

I lose

You know those tears?
Not those of happiness
But those of fear
That I won't do well in life
To fulfill their hopes

And those of loneliness
Knowing that everyone's too busy 
With their "lives"
That they forgot to see

These small tainted hands
Reaching them
Begging for attention

Or perhaps,
They saw the hands
Trembling, shaking
But choose to ignore

Have you ever experienced heartbroken?
When you know realize

The cruel law of the world
The strong will live
The weak will perish
"Survival of the fittest" they say

But I ain't strong
Nor am I weak
In the end, 
I wonder where do I belong?

All I need is
a human to talk to
A shoulder to cry on
And a soul,

not disgusted with the mess

I have become

But I wonder,
Is there any?
Because I haven't met one
Maybe,
I'm just a burden
A living mess

I wanna run away,
And just disappear