I am from the binds and ties of a strong ancestry.
I am from the inside hollow of the tunnel slide.
Lost in the depth of the bowl from which we dished rice and curry.
Left in between the blank pages of an awaiting book.
What is expected of me, and who expects, will remain a mystery.
Where are we to seek for the hidden in this world game?
An insight, a clue—that is all I ask of you.

My ears, my eyes—they listen and roam.
I can hear what you say, what you tell me.
I can feel the urgency and persuasion in your voice.
Your breath, your touch—they rouse me.
But a link is missing.
I have learned that I trust too easily; my naivety overcomes what sense I may possess.
Time and time again I struggle to pick myself up, to support my broken bones.
Now, my sense has taken hold.
Please restore the link.
I no longer believe in you.

I wish to be something, someone. Soon.
The earth turns, and night turns to day. Yet I cannot find myself.
Who I am, I do not know. I want to know.
I can’t always have what I want, but I always want what I can’t have.
Do not tell me that you know me. Do not tell me that I am wrong.
But what right do I have to disagree with you?
My cool exterior, my confident composure—they are all a façade.
What I say and what I do, I do not mean to.
I am not me. I am not who I am.
I will hunt me down.