So many times I've been dead, but I've lost count.
They all think I'm insane. but they don't even know me.
Lying there on the floor with my head throbbing like the beating of the drums.
My heart pounding like you see a player bouncing a ball against the ground.
And no matter what I say, they think I have a sickly disease, so no human contact towards me.
Hear the laughter and whispers of the people that walk by in the hallway.
Pictures. With their glaring eyes, telling me to get up.
But I can't. It's too painful.
I can't tell anymore whether I am dead or I am dreaming.
Why is life so cruel towards me? I haven't done anything to shame my existence.
Why do you punish me if there are other people that are committing crimes ten times horrible?
I believe it's obvious to say that it's not my time.
