a3t3rnum

I cannot be the wounded man, But I can ask where he is hurt. I can't place myself in your shoes, And you can't place yourself in mine. As much as we may think we can Read 'tween the lines And see another's truth, We cannot do so, For only we do know ourselves So fully and so truly. We're all paper people-- 2D figures that lack depth. We're trying to be what they all like, 'Cause we just want to fit in And feel like we belong, So we're sucked into the throng And fold inward to suppress the pieces That don't fit the standards of conformity.

imi doresc sa fiu doar un fluture. sa-mi traiesc toata viata in 24 de ore. stau intinsa pe ceva din metal. e rece, seamana cu o masa. e intuneric si e o atmosfera morbida, funebra. simt miros de mort, de putrefactie amestecate cu formol, amoniac. ma pisca nasul si imi simt plamanii inundati de durere. apoi inima. ma simt goala, trupul meu e gol si simt asta. imi aud inima ticaind atat de incet. se stinge... ma lasa aici, intre morti, intinsa pe o targa. aud pasi. tot mai aproape. se face lumina si vad un material subtire si albastru asupra-mi. pasii se apropie. valul a fost ridicat. nu clipesc, nu respir. inima bate ca nebuna si doar eu