That.

And that makes me sad

Know what a dress could be,

long and pompous

But instead I am

an empty black sack

Full of loneliness and misery

I haven't learned anything, I

I only cling to imaginary beings

Creation of this stormy mind

Some vague memories.

I have a wounded soul

And a little hobby

To jump over nails

Decadence expressed on dirty paper

That don't lead to anything either.

That makes me sad.