Chasing rats...

The little nightmares.

The dreams… or maybe nightmares… they show me something.

They show what I truly feel—feelings I don’t fully understand.

The consciousness of my mind is unraveling,

Devastated, scattered—

Yet still,

Hope gleams somewhere in the midst of this chaos.

I see you.

I feel you.

I adore you.

I hold you.

What is it?

I don’t really know.

Maybe it’s a dream.

Maybe a desire.

Maybe just hope—

One that slips through my fingers even though I’m gripping it so tightly.

I wonder:

Are my loved ones unhappy,

Or is it me—

Unhappy with myself?

I see my flaws.

I see the things I could do,

And the things I choose not to.

It makes me feel like I’m no longer useful,

No longer the person I used to be.

I’m changing—

Or maybe “change” is just an excuse

To cover all the neglect,

The guilt of everything I left undone.

The dreams of chasing rats—

They haunt me.

Maybe they are my acute stressors,

Or maybe symbols of all the broken pieces of my identity

That are trying to run from me.

I don’t want to sound low.

But this is what’s left.

In this gleaming night,

I still see what I can do—

And yet, I choose not to.

But I will now.

I will.