Young people, young people, doctors and ballerinas and
firemen, come over.
I never had any friends, nor
complements.
I paint my picture to feel famous.
How should a person be? A celebrity?
I live a simple life – only one.
Dying to be as famous as one can be. My image start
ling and
magnetic.
All fame, an illusion.
Who I am, who I am, all specks of dirt,
all on this earth.
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