Coma

Fake attempts to be okay
But giving in to the disease that consumes me is easier these days.

Sunshiny milk swallowed down to my throat,
I'm sorry to say, but you know I must go.

I know I'll never succeed in changing this world
no amount of emotional output is enough 
there are doubts every second
there are clocks that won't stop
I'm the product of my parents
who never had an ounce of professional luck.

Still some days I pretend, and I think to myself-
No it's useless never mind.