Oblivion

I feel alive again,

But deep down somewhere,

I'm grieving something that's concealed.

My incapability of speaking haunts me.

I wish I was 8-years old,

So they would call me "shy" and not "arrogant"

May be I don't want anything.

When I ask for everything.

Nights couldn't be more pleasant;

Although sometimes I forget,

Things may not work out the way I want to,

But there's no point in fearing the oblivion.

I'm not planning on living forever,

But I certainly seek happiness, 

while I'm still breathing.