Child of Autism
Everything is cold to touch -
Isn't it?
Those tears; perhaps they are of happiness
Or perhaps they are of sorrow
I hate the noise
I'm lost
Are you telling me off?
Is this wrong?
Everything is my fault
No, nothing is my fault
Turn it down
I can't hear you
Everyone is screaming
Be quiet
I remember it all
Every number, every equation
I like to solve problems
But I don't like that screeching
Please tell the crowd to silence
I myself am a problem, aren't I?
But even I cannot solve myself
The pills are sour
I don't want them anymore
Everything is blurry
Please make the noise stop
Isn't it?
Those tears; perhaps they are of happiness
Or perhaps they are of sorrow
I hate the noise
I'm lost
Are you telling me off?
Is this wrong?
Everything is my fault
No, nothing is my fault
Turn it down
I can't hear you
Everyone is screaming
Be quiet
I remember it all
Every number, every equation
I like to solve problems
But I don't like that screeching
Please tell the crowd to silence
I myself am a problem, aren't I?
But even I cannot solve myself
The pills are sour
I don't want them anymore
Everything is blurry
Please make the noise stop
♠ ♠ ♠
My autistic nephew will often talk to himself about odd things, and when I inquire on them, he will either be unsure of what he meant or will have forgotten what he was doing. I took the time to listen more carefully to his mumbles, and I altered it, and put it together into a short (and potentially) confusing verse.