It's Not a Poetry

This sudden stroke of anxiousness,
On my nerves,
Is making me restless,
I dunno how to explain this random feeling,
But my heart is palpitating very fast,
And I'm feeling nauseous,
I want to talk to someone,
But then I'm convincing myself,
That I will handle this situation,
On my own,
I don't want to rely on humans,
When I'm out of my own control,
Everything around me is overwhelming,
Or over dramatic,
It might seem to be a dream come true,
But I dunno,
I'm suffocating here every single day,
I breathe in this air,
I... I dunno what to say,
But not everything that seems,
Good ,
Is actually a place of pearls,
Rather a cave of untouched mysteries,
Burning in its hysteria.
I might be breathing,
But I know,
That every cell inside me is dead now,
I was alive once,
And that was beautiful,
And now everything,
Is not a nightmare,
Rather... rather,
More horrible than it.
I want to run,
But the forced to be here,
I can't even talk to anyone,
What unethical hormonal change,
Is going inside me.
At last,
I'm okay to fake things in this world.