Fog

Grown ass children of the world: Forgive your parents for they did not always know what they were doing; find  new mothers and fathers in different places.                  
These days are not meant for lipstick and today my face is clean.
Routine is a serial killer. 
I lost the weight of the world on my shoulders but even in despair I care, and caring is my cursed.        
Tomorrow it will all be forgotten; new mothers and fathers will be born to wear these suits tailored for them, and I will be fog in a cold morning.