I believe I can see the future, because I repeat the same routine. I think I used to have a purpose- But then again, that might have been a dream. I think I used to have a voice, now I never make a sound. I just do what I've been told- I really don't want them to come around. Every day is exactly the same. There is no love here and there is no pain. I can feel their eyes are watching, in case I lose myself again. Sometimes I think I'm happy here. Sometimes- yet I still pretend. I can't remember how this got started.But I can tell you exactly how it will end. I'm writing on a little piece of paper. I'm hoping someday you might find. I'll hide it behind something they won't look behind--I am still inside here-- A little bit comes bleeding through. I wish this could have been any other way, but I just don't know, I don't know what else I can do.
