Sometimes I questioned myself,

What does my existence mean to others?

What roles do I have

Being around society.

Am I just a pierrot?
Am I your stress ball?
Am I your mirror on the wall? or
Am I just your add-ons to your cart?

Am I written on your favorite list?
Am I categorized at the end of the list?
Am I reaching my expiry date? or
Am I just a mystery bundle that's so bizarre?

I've always thought that I have healed myself from the open wound before. But I've never realized that all this time, I'm just covering up my wounds along with the changing of seasons.

The spring breeze;
    that blows my past worries away with the dancing sakura petals
The bright summer sun;
    that reaches upon my darkest corner, showering me with its
    utmost warmth
The changing color of leaves;
    that turns my life resolution from monochromatic to vivid hues
The cold white snowstorm;
    that keeps piling up, upon my open wound

Not even the four seasons could ease the pain,
Nor the mesmerizing landscape could help me escape
Nothing, but myself to end this war alone...

Till the ends of time, until another season comes;
these struggles keep goes on...