As I see myself lying on the ground, I could feel the hurt from my open wound.
Wondering if this new pain that I felt was lesser than the pain I had dwelt.
The gun that I shot to myself, would my dream paradise be out in my shelf?
A paradise not full of regrets and a life full of freedom that I will never forget.
If you ask me what my life has been, it is as simple as counting from one to fifteen.
But counting numbers could be complicated, if 3 seconds time is what you had been obligated.
What you’re going through doesn’t matter, as long as you learn how to fake your laughter.
After making yourself believe everything will be alright, when disappointment comes you will rub salt in your wounded heart.
Always living like a tool, couldn’t fixed itself like a fool.
I might be right about myself; I seem to exist to create mistakes.
I believe that for certain, people will always feel like I’m a burden.
If self-pity is what this poem for, this could go on I assure.
But as I talk about my new paradise, I found out something new otherwise.
If you wonder if I’m happy now in my new paradise, I say paradise doesn’t mean you need to end the sacrifice.
You will never be contented in a world full of your desire; it would feel like you were suffocated in a closed door fire.
Life was made with balance, like the presence of sound & silence.
Within tears and sorrow, comes laughter and new tomorrow.
It’s late to realize a living heaven made by God, a sacrifice for humankind that must be given glory and laud.
Life would be so much bore, if happiness is the only emotion allowed.
If I just knew what life awaits me, if I just knew what death could teach me?
I wish I never asked for this new paradise, because the paradise I dreamed for is the paradise I’ve lived before.