It’s the prospect

of a better,

something

that pushes me off my bed

and onto my feet.

 

No one promised me

everything,

nothing actually,

but anything has got to be

better than now.

 

When nothing in my life

goes right,

and no day,

-- nor night --

is without sorrows.

 

My ears aching,

eyes leaking,

body breaking,

brain bursting,

and heart bleeding.

 

Because what else am I,

if nothing but a stitching of

futile hopes and crushed dreams

with a unhealthy dose

of depression?

 

What else,

tell me,

what else.

Am.

I?