What’s wrong with my world,
with my mind and my soul?
My days standing still,
my years rushing by.
My eyes are seeing through you,
my thoughts, blind-folded, sleep.
My hands are searching for support,
my feet are running with the winds.
I build my world up every morning
just to break it down by dusk.
I hate what lives around me
just to fall in love on second thought.
I write a symphony of joy and wisdom
just to play grotesque, false song until the end.
I set my dreams up high to follow
just to bury them into the soil.
What’s wrong with me and my perceptions?
Why I’m always smiling when I cry?
Why I set the world behind me
as I am rushing into its colorful vibes?
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