There’s an itch
An eerie eagerness
To drown myself in my sorrows
Hold myself under the waves
Of ice cold pain until I’m there
Comfortably nursing a hangover
In my grave
After much consideration
I’m not afraid
I know full well the consequences
Of behaving haphazardly
In truth it comes naturally
Fun for free, enjoying fully the cheers
Of those nearest whilst chugging beer
I think not of woe
I think not of fear
Only the displacement
From my former state of mind
That type of attitude
Was the killing kind
A transformation
A complete reconfiguration
From the blind sorrow once felt
The coldness did melt
From the burn of whiskey
I drowned and it hit me
Hard as I resurface
I knew the consequences of diving in
“It was decidedly worth it”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem