Something I miss

I just lie on my bed, in my little room, staring at one spot on the ceiling.
The weather is great, the sun is shining on the sky without clouds.
But there is something I miss. Or someone.
Some emptiness inside me is making me feel insecure,
Like a hole in something full, like a spot of darkness in a bright day.
I feel like having a huge stone on my chests,
Like someone pushing a pillow on me.
I cannot breath, I need air.
I breathe deeply, but the pain in my chests becomes stronger.
I start to fight, fight the time, fight the space around, fight myself.
Walls come nearer, rushing over my head, I fall off my bed.
The room is spinning, all things are just an illusion.
I crawl to my bed and close my eyes.
There is whole world there, world that is much better than this one.
There are no things I miss, there are no things I care,
Just people I love around me, no wars, no crimes.
No one pushes on me with a pillow there, I am free.
I am free there, but what exactly freedom is?
All my life I was worlds slave.
Since I was a llittlegirl, I fought freedom to be my biggest treasure
I fought in the cruel world for my rights,
I fought my class for my place in there.
All my life I spent fighting, so I should be able to understand its meaning.
All the way I was fighting, I was hearing people talk about things they dont know.
They talked bout freedom.
But they dont even know what is it, they are slaves,
Slaves to treasure, glory, money.
I open my eyes again.
The walls are not spinning now, I still feel the pressure inside
I feel like caught in cage.
The world I see is different, it is not even close to perfect.
People with masks on, acting somebody else,
Kids playing around, but not that real childish game..
The pressure grows.
Something makes my heart beat faster.
I stand up and look trough the window.
There is nothing to see.
Just people, and lies, buildings, and cars.
I stare in one spot asking: Why people talk?
When all they talk is worth-nothing.
People talk bout me.
How can they when they only know my name?
They know nothing bout me.
None of the ways I feel, none of the ways I think about things out.
And they still talk.
But I guess there is nothing I can do.
I cant change the world myself,
I am too weak to fight all people,
Too good to fight all the evil.
And I just lie on my bed, in my little room staring at one spot, on the ceiling.