Life, a passing flame made of dreams.
Anyone can say their life is complete becouse there is no recipe for it.
All i know is the fact that my life is not good.
I feel the winds of time passing and slipping from my grasp.
I see the winds of time making others life complete and good.
But my life is uncomplete it is a cornerstone of wich everyone can see but niether friends nor enemy is willing to help my uncomplete life.
It is the very shame of living i feel in my soul.
That is why i have my soul, to hurt me.
It has lost it's color and has faided to black from the trials it goes through every day.
Everyone else has got the time, the fun, but i merely eksist without any meaning or use.
Feeling is worst of it.
Feeling joy, not my joy everyone elses joy and happiness.
It is what i know i will never have that makes me, what i will never feel.
I do not feel that i am a person, person are usefull but i am merely a programed machine with faulty software.
it's not what i do but it is what i am, what i look like.
I can allways look like a sucsessfull person, but I will allways know of my true being.
They say I do not understand, and it is true.