Why

I have no name for my own
I live a stealthy life
pushed to the edge of the world
threatened my a razor knife

pathetic I would call me
dejected by the world
my view makes others sick
my existance is just wrong

If I had to choose again
I wouldn't exist here anymore
that would be a better choice
just to have me die and go

i'm forgotten in my room
like a ghost which seeks the light
but no light I can see
it never came into my sight

I keep the suffer to myself
i'm used to it anyway
here is nothing like a rainbow
since I can only see the grey