About
Whats wrong with me? So many things indeed and as fallen for out the chain that mist found is own path confused at the darken, blinded by light. Who am I? I no longer know but the misfortune of the carried one. The othe; my self. Hidden wondered of prayer. Lost so many, may be the beginning of self-scarification. Tainted by the ink of the paper, by that hand that dear to write the book of life. Abomination to one contempt, insatisfaction to all is ends. Bleed the cover face so no longer; not to be scared of what may look back in the reflection. My past no longer does its stands, any longer will it matter. Has is change me? Maybe it only made me become. Who am I? What about me should I sustain? Im just a stained in this world, a miserable dot full with doubts. So pathetic to think any action would say, would mean something. I only give my self out to be disappointed. Maybe is a turn to pass the gardens of black where I would rest. When the knife betrayals and stop sigsagin; everything will fell. (Stop pretending that I cared) someone told, but the hideous part is that I do care. I do give a ******** s**t! But is not enough; nothing is. And tears and screams are wasted. But silence, silence is greatness! It makes you feel everything, it assures you; youve been left. It doesnt matter know, I know Im alone. As I always was. That gripping; filling. But sadness covers the greatest miseries. At this end I cant tell you about the self that I my self lost. Dont know where, nor when exactly but is gone.
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