I haven't got enough marks and scars, not enough odditues on my skin. It's way too clean and way too pure, like a virgin land where war never happened. An innocent valley, too safe, too lucky. Dumb and  unexperienced. My skin betrays me. Haven't seen enough, haven't risked enough, haven't lived enough. Too clean, too safe. Never dirtied.his hands, never bet it all. Old young calculating machine, scared of making spontaneous steps, looking behind him on the subway quay. Maybe. Maybe somebody's waiting to push me. Somebody should. Maybe the might of the train and its squealing breaks, the weight of its weels and the heat of it all will give me a sense of how real the world is, how much of an peculiar exception my universe was. Here is life. You lost your legs and soon enough, with the ounces of blood dripping, you'll lose your consciousness. Your blood covered the train, the metal rails and the black rocks underneath. Never before have you been so true, so complete, pouring yourself into the world. Die kid. Die the universe with the redness of your blood and make a rambling strawberry frappucino out of the milky way.