Running Out of Luck

Something's wrong in my life. Nothing seems to be going right. Getting rejected from so many places, my gadgets keep breaking, always hearing no. I don't know what's wrong? What did I do? What's in store. It's been six months that nothing's been going right and all has been going wrong. I don't know what to expect of the future. I can't feel happy. And I can't try anymore. Because I fear that all is gonna go well. "All will be well" used to be my signature sentence, now I'm not sure anymore.

What is hope?

I see now that it's the same thing as disappointment, because hope is for the foolish.

Anyways, Here's one of my poems that I have written. I don't know why i'm not the same old cheerful, hopeful guy who used to spread happiness everywhere he went. Life get's to me. And hope has hurt me. So I guess it's time to stop believeing that things are going to get better, because i'm faithless. I've lost faith in me.

INFECTED

It spreads like dust with time,
It burns my twisted insides,
It affects my chained mind
But their poison is too kind.

My dreams have broken down
As my life seems sound
But my love and warmth for it
Is nowhere to be found.

I see I am the host
To a disease that feeds on man's
Vision, Drive and Zeal.
A cure I cannot find.

For I'm a self diagnosed patient
Of fatalism, of Life,
Of regrets that pile up
Of all the things I left behind.

Each moonlit night I spend
Alone in the comfort of dark,
Every twinkle of the smoggy stars,
Every rare, solitary moment reminds

I am a victim of life
Where I'm forced to be a fatalist -
A life where having no hope fits and
They call this disease "Being a Realist"