When I was a child, I often thought
That growing up would be interesting.
Adulthood gave me the bitter realization
That there is nothing but suffering.

Sometimes I sit alone and wonder
If my life were virtual,
I’d be free of this world’s constriction.
And of these so-called social ritual.

Why it had to be like this,
Was there no other way?
Who have written our fate;
Where are they?

Oh Life! Wish I were an author
and you were my story,
I would’ve cleared out all the obstacles
And lead your path to glory.

If I could capture you in a story book,
I would rewrite your fate.
Would sort out the good memories
With the nicest people you could have met.

But who are ‘you’ and who am ‘I’,
Are we not the same?
We are two pieces of a same picture
Bound by a frame.