Hurt کے بول

My head often prevent me from thinking that until yesterday I could be who I wanted. My head today refers to the world in a somewhat absurd ... Everything around me is spinning, The objective lost the fun, lost color, And now, what appears to be real? What seems to be normal? I walk without direction, without way, without ground, No place, no face, no air. My head hurts to think that I could and can be better than I am, My viscera exhale bad smell 'cause of the hate and anger contained in a large fake laughs that I gave in when lied be fun, And all this for what? Why I am not good enough to recognize that I wrong and worse enough to not know when.