Papers slicing through the night, cutting memories in two.
Filling up an emptiness of space and time, never adding anything to life - only throwing it away, in the dumpsters of our minds.
Always pretending to know what life is about, turning somersaults, lifting sorrow off of sidewalks put there by another's unkind words.
Walking always into danger, not caring what is near at hand, forever falling, getting in the way.
Papers slicing through the night, leaving paper cuts in each memory remembered tonight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem