Really me.

So scared of the future.
Not even wanting to try.
So much pushing by the elderly.
When will they be satisfied?

Looking in the mirror.
With scars upon my skin.
The more stripes I get, the more it looks like me.
So this is a begin.


Today’s homework.
It’s about me.
And empty sheet.
The one with no personality.

So why is it always that we say we are sad?
We are so lonely.
Can you read the imagination of that kid?
Of the one who collard black his heart.
Who could it be?
Can you loosen the rope around his neck?

Tell me what to do.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
How the hell should I grow up?!
What the hell does that mean?
I always have been slowly intoxicated by the one closest to me.

Now I hide my face.
Behind the power of arrogance I don’t even have.
There is still a devil in me.
Saying I should disappear.

Homework about me is still an empty sheet.
Stripes grow like red rivers on my skin.
Can’t read the imagination.
The one with the black heart is…
Really me?