I’m reading some old poem of mine,
Wonder what I felt at the moment I wrote them,
Did I feel sad? Or sick? Or perhaps I was happy?
I can’t seem to understand my self,
And I don’t ask people to try,
I don’t ask them to understand me,
Do I look like a freak?
Do I look like a weirdo?
Or do I look like an ordinary person?
I don’t want their opinion,
I just don’t want them!
I think my mind is lost,
My heart is cracking,
And bleeds until it hurts so much,
I think the impulses keep sending the wrong message,
And lead me to an unidentified situation,
Part of me is no more others’,
Part of me is just part of my self
And nothing else
I thought I could see freedom,
But they are too universal,
I can barely understand the circumstance.
Do I feel like crashing down?
Do I feel like shooting my head off?
I think I should jump!
From reality to my own fantasy world.