Chaotic mind churns like pulp
Pale pain cuts sharper than paper’s thin edge
I’ve tried to spit out the butterflies hatched in my gut
Onto the bathroom’s grimy tiles
Why do all the vital things slip away from me?
So I can no longer tell real feelings apart
Guilt won’t die, even if you plunge a knife through the heart
Fear it comes before happiness’s full picture unfolds
Never being escaped through that narrow door
My face is smudged by wind blown from the past
The child holds his breath, trying to light the table’s candle with psychokinesis
Shattering the mirror to be human is not easy for a freak
Just wander the world and pretend to forget that ugly face
Stay silent once you see the empty skin beneath the cracked mask
The puppet shall hold a grand parade crossing midnight
Just sleep a long while, and drown in the colorful fragments of possibility
