Crying Skies, Rain And Discarded Memories

idea

My parents are in love with an idea.

But I am not a idea.

And I cannot be that idea.

Because they didn’t raise that idea,

They raised me.

They are waiting for me to transform and change.

Give up on myself and go on studying for days,

Watching me as I change myself and change my ways,

Becoming a tiny shell that wants to be dead.

They are watching me and I get wasted.

As I lose this battle and lose myself,

And eventually I will end up becoming that idea,

That idea they failed to create.

And that idea will consume me,

And engulf me and never choose me,

But if that idea listens to the remaining drops of my drained soul,

That idea will fail.