There's a worry of everything
the mind can't fixate on one puzzle
the questionable and unquestionable
are all grey
I can't decide which path to take
Worried of the mistakes I will make
The thoughts plague me
Don't wish to be perceived as fake
The Disguise isn't designed for me
I speak with blasphemy.
Lights are needed in the path
And though the truth may be hard to grasp
In the end
I will have the last laugh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem