Too Young

I look at the art.

Artists are dead.

Do I understand the art?

Is the question they ask.

But I wonder,

Do they understand the art?

Do they understand me?

Or am I far too young?

I cannot shatter

So, I break every day,

Piece by piece,

Part by part.

I want to say

The art is me,

Beautifully broken and unique,

But I'm too young.

I feel everything

But I am silenced.

To hell with those who ask

Me about my broken art.

Will I speak with my frown?

Or find pea

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ce in these borrowed words?

Not mine for I have none

Because I am still too young.

As life walks by,

Will I walk beside it?

Or spend forever chasing it?

I have lived,

I have survived,

I have suffered,

I have seen it all and

I don't feel too young.

When I will lie on my deathbed,

I believe I could do everything.

I would break free,

Steal those guilty pleasures

Hidden from the eyes of the world.

The clock was ticking

And now I can't move a limb.

I have become too old.