I'm no human by definition,
Not a soul by rules,
I'm but a spirit,
Free and nonchalant.
I follow no book nor verse,
No text written or spoken,
I'm not an a follower,
Nor I belong to anyone.
I eat what's good,
And write to my heart,
I speak for no-one,
But what seems right by logic.
I no longer live, not anymore,
Merely existing in a rental body,
I'm nothing, but a frame of clay,
Mud, and a spritz of Insanity.
I am not righteous, nor sinful,
Just breathing the same air,
That's dusty, infectious,
And more or less, poisonous.
I do not sleep for rest,
Nor wake for work,
I simply haven't any idea,
To do something else.
I do not feel how people react,
Nor do I reciprocate,
I perform an act to understand,
Only to escape from them.