I dream of those bizarre sketches,
on my unworthy soul,
hands proceed towards me snatching,
along with eyes wide and bold,
haunt and fear both suddenly fetching,
me on this curving road,
breaking me away, but I keep on patching,
still having faith and hope,
the egg of hunt, in my brain that hatches,
the hunger solidifies like a sword,
satisfying my hunger, my soul catches,
habits I cannot afford,
the cruelty around has carved a million scratches,
on my sorry soul,
people who are classified into groups and batches,
which all end up like me... A LOSER