Basket of disparate

Over there is my basket of despair, my names engraved in there.

Plenty of scratches from the times I tried to to get out. 

Plenty of dirty work no doubt. 
The sooner you empty it, the faster it fills. 

And none of the contents can be fixed with pills. 

Basket smells funny, maybe it's rotten to the core, or maybe that's cause I'm fearing you won't be here no more. 

Can't quite fold it, definitely can't win, it's against the tide. 

Trying to stuff all that guilt and suffering inside. 

Empty pipe dream, empty hollow heart, why is it always a new start. 

Where's that basket of joy, or did that get destroyed. 

Where's that box of hope, who took that away. 

I'm no basket case. 
I know my place. 

I do realize who and what I trapped in there. 

But so much disappeared in that basket of despair. 

Woven from my desperate, woven by my existence. 

If they have finished with destroying me, let them be happy.