I see my reflection

In a form of a person.

this cant be Me. Just cant.

I MUST be unique

But its the same her infront of me.

Her look, her color.

Her being, her walk;

Har paleness, har talk; 

Her silenece, her shock;

 Her clothes- the same baggy clothes of shameHer face is full of effort to hide the pain..Shes transparent. So am I.She notices me in a glimpse of an eye.Shes scared to her CORE to be multipliedBut she knowes, like I do, the statistic will testify "we are all at the same pit" to myself I replite,

and this disorder's what makes us so desparate and spite

.