Literature
I'm used to...
I'm used to...
To be ignored,
Hated,
Forgottten and desprised.
I'm used to...
Being always in the pit,
Eaten away by what I've became.
I'm used to...
Having to run away,
Pushing away those who want to pull me,
Away from this pit.
Why can't they realize?
Why can't they see?
This is what I am,
What I was born (or made) to be.
Nothing can take me out of this.
This slud is part of myself.
I am gone, like the wind,
And doomed to die alone.
So, please...
Stop caring.
This is my end.
I know it.
There are only three persons I want to keep...
And they know who they are.
To all others....
Farewell.