A dull dream

I wake up every day with a shred of
hope, that my path will be embellished
with the ampleness of my thoughts.

And every night, I go to bed holding that
hope hidden behind a bleak heart,
with a few teardrops burried in my bones,
for the hurt I feel is beyond mortal flesh.

I turn my face to the wind to alleviate
the pain of predictable moments, but the
pattern lived and relived is unerasable.

How can one possibly dream of the nonexistent?

When I thought my dreams are my destiny,
my destiny abandoned me once more,
leaving me chained to walls of the ordinary.

No matter how much I yelled freedom,
the echo of my voice screamed reality.