As I write my pain in this piece of paper.
It means I’ve been through it all.
Even though I dont remember building the wall.
But I do remember the fall.

As i walked down the pathway,
Barefoot with various thoughts on my mind.
Running away from home,
Maybe somewhere affection I could find.
So hard the rain was pouring.
As I walked next to the road,
Countless cars were passing.

“The internal struggle is so hard to explain.
I’ve had it, I’m just tired of this pain.
As I look back, I see them laughing at my cries.
It was like I was lost in a foreign environment where no one cares”.
Those were the thoughts of a lost soul.
With pain kept inside, In this life has no role.

For 16 years I’ve lived in the absence of my parents.
Wondered if my father has no regrets.
I was a young boy of twelve,
when I first experienced sleeping on the cold.
All alone on that town street,
With just people who won’t greet.
Probably up above my mother was looking,
But my hand she couldn’t hold.
My eyes always filled with tears.
Hoping she appears.

So many times I’ve written.
And here I am again.
Pouring my pain in this paper.
Because its easier this way.
Where ever I may run to nor hide.
No matter how many times I’ve tried.
At the end I’ve noticed.
Life is, but an empty dream.
And things are not what they seem.