I know you all by now
must have seen how vulnerable I am,
and I have been all along
the only person who was so convinced
that I was so convincing otherwise.
I took charge so desperately
that I forgot I were the only person
who was vulnerable all alone.
I was not acting even though
I was under the limelight
I was living my life,
and all the sudden
ever light began illuminating me.
I have metamorphosed to some written lines.
Call it destiny, call it script
but I was not doing much of what they had given me.
I dragged the lines latitudes way beyond what was scripted.
I know I was out of line if I even breathe further than their margins,
for all of them excepted me to have no existence
but the written scrip.
Yet I was only chasing the true story,
improvising the unwritten words
The line that must have been written.
Now, I am an outcast
for as an employee I know the script by heart
but as an artist
I am not living it.
because I have always been
more than these trivial flesh
or all these
limelights that flash.
