Ink in my pocket

I found ink in my pocket like my mind in the mud.

I hate my own ways, my own struggle with nothing

My eyes are seeing sth that nobody see... And my mind is becoming an old useless machinery.

I'm fed up .... I don't want to stay here... I heard sth about the next step... People hear what they want... I can't be the character of my work... my arms are tired and they are ansious to rest near to my chest. My skin has a strong desire to touch the soil.
Struggling with myself ...trying to see the good path... but a dark desire comes from this place. My long nights .... desiring they were so long to keep my eyes closed .... asleep ...

Ink in a blank paper waiting for my fears and hopes and the same song all the nights ... What is wrong with it? What am I doing wrong? what am I doing better?

My blank paper dance in my room... I don't know what to do ...what to think .... I only take the iron armour and my shield and I am me again... after my soul holidays in my dark mind.... What kind of thing make me not being so simple? And live without so many questions ???....