In nights when I roam

In nights when I roam
chasing my shadow under the streetlight,
talking to the palms of my hands,
speaking by the agony in my eyes,
every verse that I quote
speaks about an ongoing struggle;
the weaker edge breaks -
frightening my life out,
'Impossible was made',
the goosebumps shreik out,
after a terrible period of tear shed,
I suddenly freak out,
and then the ghosts in my face
slowly freeze down;
the stronger edge gathers strength -
breezing its strength out,
and then I am a painter
of the portrait of my soul,
and then I am a consoler
trying to gather pieces of my world,
and then I am a stranger
watching fireworks of my world...