People don't write poems about things like this
They are not the things that really make you live
but they can be what makes you die

The pressure in my head, the doubt inside
They threaten me with insecurity
They threaten me with fickleness
Because it's not it what I'm fighting
but myself

A dream thrown to the garbage bin
Somethings I never was, will never be
My life goes through odd rivers
and I sweat the fever
the first moment I encountered it
because that's what it does
I see better in the darkness,
because every light burns brighter?
My mind operates in strange
motions

Am I sure about what I'm going to do?
I was, until you came and shot my true dreams.
You shot the meaning out of me.
But it's not your fault, hear
it wasn't you but me

What do I want from life?
All I want is to be free and keep breathing
And get away as fast as I can
But I must pass this test before
The otherness creeping under the door
to my eyes

I must do something
but what I love I cannot do -my mind binding me-
and it's the only thing I can do! -my fate showing me-
This is what I feel
is my problem now