I'm so full of wishing
but so empty of deeds.
I know what I'm missing,
but no clue what I need.
bad luck is my style,
clothing my attitude.
my fashion is vile,
as it reflects my mood.
And I swim through my thoughts
but I sink in my dreams.
all my idea's are bought
with my lowered esteem.
I love to the extent
that it remains astute.
I balance harsh judgment
with my poor self-repute.
there are things I can't pass
since this world's not my speed,
And I'm made out of glass-
a sick body to feed.
I hide behind silence
since words make me feel weak,
then drown in the suspense
of just if I should speak.
I'm so full of wishing
but so empty of deeds
I know what I'm missing,
but no clue what I need.
 
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