My Short History
I had a drink and I was born. I grew up with my mother's milk. I've cried a lot. In every cry, my mother gave her milk or took one of her own. No matter what my crying was, I stopped most of it.
I started with the same fate as a lot of other people. No matter what the reason, I read it. For years. I let my life run wild. But what is more will be rebelled. Nice rebellions have changed my heart in fear of screaming. I didn't get out of my voice, and I sneaked my eyes out. What if I know why?
The best was to never think, I wanted to live a life away from all senses. To be blind, not to see the misery, to be deaf and not to hear the cries, and finally to be dumb not to rebel. I don't know why, but I'm alive. I'm in my head with my minds, jammed in millions of cells, my heart hurts, my body hurts, I'm having all these irregularities in order, without knowing why.
The short history behind me, the long future according to statistics in front of me, I fall for no reason with forked paths of life. I'm trying to draw my way before I know my end. No math theory, no physics rules help me to find my direction. I want to sleep and wake up in the mess in my dreams.
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