I was born into this.
Don't you get it?
It wasn't by choice or reason.
Confessions of a mad man.
Holding out an empty can.
Some change please.
And not the kind that clings.
I was born into this.
Don't you get it.
It wasn't by choice or reason.
Confessions of a mad man.
Holding out an empty can.
Some change please.
And not the kind that clings.
I'm breathing under water.
I should be drowning.
But instead I'm smiling.
The inspired.
Feeding the the fire.
The fuel that forever burns.
Churns, urns, more, please more.
The perfect utopia of the piety.
The unimportant, the unknown and unwanted, the undesirable.
How many ways can it truly be surmised.
One for each sunrise.
One for each cloud in the sky.
One for each goodbye.
Tried and true.
Examples engrossed all the through.
You really have no clue.
I'm breathing under water. I should be drowning. But instead I'm smiling. beautifully penned
I'm breathing under water. I should be drowning. But instead I'm smiling. beautifully penned
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Not everyone born this way, born through broken glass but then even it was from pieces of shattered glass you can make life into a class because you having strength after being born through glass :) always stronger than ever! _Soul