The Dim State.

It's getting busier. I'm feeling emptier. Always come first to the door, But fall on the bedroom floor. Sitting on the chair feels unfair. The atmosphere gives a judgemental glare. Because working hard is the usual air. And dying inside is the hidden funfair. We all know it's just in our head. But fear can't stop being shed. We all try to get the cascade. But never stop being trapped. What are the chances? I'm getting smaller in horrific places. It doesn't matter to see unfamiliar faces. But without love, I can't find the graces. In this cruel life, I never joined the heist. In this dim state, I never gain faith.