"When I was kidnapped, my parents snapped into action. They rented out my room."
Lost. Found. Lost. Found.
Where am I? Who am I?
Am I a mask? Am I real?
Which is me? Which I am?
I have so many different personalities.
I am lost.
I have not found.
Is my whole behaviour and appearance a facade? What I hope to be? Or what I shall never be?
I am lost.
I shall not be found.
I dream of dreaming.
My entire existence is fake.
I am built on lies and decit? Or am I not?
Which of me is real?
Did you know how stressful it is to act and be lazy? When everyone around you is caught up in a frenzy? To do nothing; to laze around The true me having been never found Being lazy comes with a fee. The stress of being carefree.
Logical reasoning tells me that my grades will not change whether I want it to change or not. Rather, it changes according to my mood. And my mood is foul. It reeks of decay. It stinks. It is worse than the sludge of poison we call industrial waste. I shall regret. I shall pay the price.
I was sick. I am still sick. I will be sick.
I don't care. Care. Anymore. What is care anyway?
Who cares. Not me. Not those around me. Not the world. No.
