Crédit couverture : Artbytheo
I’m fifteen. What did I do to deserve this? My innocence is fleeing me in droves of frightened doves! I wander through the staring crowds of the unknown. I want to be back at the start of this.
I’m sixteen. What am I to be going through this? My hopes are being born from the matrix of my dreams! I pass through petty misunderstanding gazes. I want to remain at the start of this.
I’m seventeen. What was I to be so wrong? I can see so clearly now that my own eyes are blinding! I’m running past figures of nightmare. I want to remember the start of this.
I’m eighteen. What am I to be so lost? The light was but a hide for the monster darkness! I stand still but the passers-by stopped caring. I want to know what is the start of this.
I’m nineteen. What will I deserve next? A painting emerges from the lack of white and the bite of black! I walk again, but then their disdain is disguised. I don’t think there was a start to this.
I’m twenty. What am I even to ask? The picture is blurry, abstract and moving, as it always was, different only in that I’m part of it now! I will want to be back at the start of this.