From time to time
I feel blue
and cook my own stew.
Its bland and
taste good enough
for my stomach.

I knew from the start
that my cooking
isn't really that great
nor it's appetising.
Atleast
my milk is
sweet.
I'm not fond of sodas
dislike the fact that
it boils my
stomach.

Food, for now
they're within
reach, though
must someday
will come -
starvation is
inevitable

How can you know me,
    When you've only seen my skin
There is not way
    I could possibly portray
    More than a distorted fragment
        Of the twisted universe
            That resides inside my head.

I try  my dear,
    Oh how hard I try!
But it is futile you see,
    For how can I form words
        To convey who I am
When I myself
Do not even understand
Who I Have Become.