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Is it a blessing?

Maybe someday you’re the one who always remember that day gratefully

This is life

I will always be the one who left behind

And (maybe) it always be my sad story

I keep asking why it’s you not me

Why, why, and why?

Is it true it’s what grown ups do?

Maybe i get my soul too much covered by my body, brain, and lust

Should i be a monk?

Or am i just running away?

Now, i still cry for myself because you can’t answer the most basic question

I cry for myself, for being such a fool these years

Nothing’s left, this is life

I still can’t see my future, i let it unpredictable and unexpected

Can i even bare my future?

So much things to say and i still don’t want to talk with you

Time is running out, i don’t have time to cry

I can’t handle tears, they’re already running down on my cheeks