I'm sitting here on the pavement
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under the eternal, grey rain...
...drops of blind illusions...
I'm tired of searching my future in puddles,
seeing myself transforming
and telling me, with mercy:
"Child, search for your future elsewhere
search for Paradise elsewhere"
But all streets look the same
and I don't know who I am anymore:
the sad harlequin, with a grin painted on his face,
the anguished Barbie-doll with paper-thin shoulders,
or maybe that nameless danger
hidden inside all of my masks,
in which I've lost myself
searching a cardboard Paradise