I'm at that age
Where I start thinking about the reason I'm living
And why I should keep existing with such cruelty
All these thoughts grow and take root in the brains
Squeezing to fit, inside the spaces in my skull
They become too heavy, too thick for my head
And burst out to escape, dying in the process
When I'm thinking about all these big things
I feel small, little and tiny,
I'm barely sixteen,
Yet I wish to die so early.