Nothing seems to be enough.
I live but I have no life
I love but I have no love
I cry but I have no cry.
At least, no one pretends to be me.
Who would be so insane to pretend
to be as weird as I am?
As long as the day arrives,
My life seems to be erased, piece to piece,
page to page, word to word, memory to memory.
And my life goes by
from me.
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