Sometimes I’m scared
I’ll lose what I have.
I’ll lose everything
That makes me a writer.
Everything that is meaningful.
Sometimes I’m scared
I’ll lose being a person.
I’ll let friends
Pass me by and not care
Until later.
And every time I try to keep
What makes me different,
My being a person
Drifts away.
Each time I try to keep
Being a person,
What makes me different
Drifts away.
It seems that I am
Caught in the middle.
But even there,
My difference drifts away.
I’m scared that if I lose
What makes me a writer,
I’ll never come back.
And what will I be then?
A simple soul made for
NOTHING.
That is no life for me.
I’ll lose what I have.
I’ll lose everything
That makes me a writer.
Everything that is meaningful.
Sometimes I’m scared
I’ll lose being a person.
I’ll let friends
Pass me by and not care
Until later.
And every time I try to keep
What makes me different,
My being a person
Drifts away.
Each time I try to keep
Being a person,
What makes me different
Drifts away.
It seems that I am
Caught in the middle.
But even there,
My difference drifts away.
I’m scared that if I lose
What makes me a writer,
I’ll never come back.
And what will I be then?
A simple soul made for
NOTHING.
That is no life for me.
