Well, that's my last empty page
and it's not right to my heart,
but still
I fill it with you,
like the real poets do.
Me, I'm not a poet.
I'm a punk,
but I keep writing
because I'm afraid,
afraid of you,
that you might forget me
just like everybody else.
I don't want to end up
under a cross,
with no one to hold my hand...
Damn it!
Why is it still,
hard
to say I love you,
when it's clear that you love me too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem