A violent night,
A crucial sight—
A family living
A tragic life.

A boy with blurred eyes,
A disturbed wife,
A husband who cried,
A child who sacrificed.

Why is it so difficult
To earn a dime?
I'm trying, trying, and trying,
But in the end,
I'm just a boy who's always crying.

The eyes saw the child
Holding a knife.
To him, it was right—
But to the wife,
It was an inevitable crime.

What should I do
To stop this fight?
The home is broken,
And the eyes are, again,
Just crying.

The vision is blurred,
The colours are blind—
Am I dying—
Or am I again trying?

An ignorant friend, that’s what he is,
Yet always kind—no moment missed.
He looked my way, but never spoke,
A bond once built, then quietly broke.

Why is it so difficult,
To grow, to be an adult?
I see him now,
Trying to ignore me somehow.

Did he ever care?
Or was it just me,
Clinging to echoes
Of what could never be?

I reached out in laughter,
In silence, in pain—
But he stayed in his world,
Like sun behind rain.

So I smile and move on,
Accepting he's gone,
But I still wanna talk to him,
In his sleep, in quiet dreams.

A quiet afternoon,
A boy watching cartoons,
Eyes on the door,
Not exploring his core.

He is lost in his path,
Believing he has passed,
But the answers are unknown,
And he faces them alone.

What should he do?
Do you have a clue?
He's lost in thought,
In a world so new.

What would you do,
If you were there too?

The wound is at her heart,
Her world is apart,
Trying to reach her,
Yet I can't speak with her.

Why is it so tough?
Whenever I see her,
I just stand there,
Frozen in the cold, with just a cough.

Is it my fault?
That I never stood by her,
Or is it her fault?
That she tried others?

I reach for words,
But they never stay,
They slip through my fingers
And fade away.

The day feels different,
But she wouldn’t know,
Once, I was there—
Now, I watch from the shadow.

If I had spoken,
Would things be the same?
Or was I meant to
Lose this game?

Today should be special,
Like the days we once knew,
But time has spoken—
And so, I stay silent too.

Locked inside the walls,
Sitting in the hall,
Trying to recall,
Yet I slip and fall.

What is it that inspires you?
What is it that desires you?
Is it inside these walls,
Or is it the outside calls?

Did I do something wrong?
Or have I been wrong all along?
Is it me who doesn’t belong,
Or is it the world that belongs?

The struggle is hard,
The game isn't fun,
But the process is an art,
And the player is one.

The inner voices ask,
"Am I done?"
The player removes the mask,
Killing himself with a gun.

They say:
Unsee their eyes,
Unlearn their feelings,
Clear your mind, and
Just focus on your dreams.
But the question is—
What is my dream?

Is it art?
Or is it music?
Maybe it’s both,
'Cause music itself is an art, right?

Or maybe it’s a boy,
Looking in the mirror,
Asking questions about
Affection and attraction.

Or maybe it’s a girl,
With soft eyes and a fake gaze.
But if it’s a girl,
Then it’s difficult to achieve, right?

Maybe it’s something else,
Yet to be discovered.
Or maybe it is discovered,
But I am still figuring it out.
Maybe I know what it is,
But I don’t know how to reach it.
Maybe I have taken a step,
Yet the path ahead remains uncertain.

Or maybe it is already achieved.
But if it is already achieved,
Then it is not a dream—
It is reality, right?

And if it is reality,
Then what is my dream?

Unsee, unlearn, let go.
Listen to their untrue laughter, then
walk away.
Unsee their eyes,
unlearn their feelings,
clear your mind, and
just focus on your dreams,
'cause their untrue laughter
won't help you sleep.