I’m lying steady on my bed,
Voices kept knocking in my head;
Gently, the breeze tickles my pores
And my eyes wouldn’t even close

An enormous fear bothers me
Anxious of something ordinary;
I know, myself could never vary

“My black shiny strands will turn grey,
Soon…

My smoothly splendid cover will be wrinkled,
Soon…

My loud but sweet squeaks will slowly fade,
Soon…”

Then salty water rolls on my cheeks,
Until it gradually kisses my lips
Every little thing disappears,
Even the playful mind that speaks