You're so bad at being nice,
Your heart must be filled with ice.
You fight and fight and fight and fight,
Always thinking that you're right.
Upon a thin thread we balance and stand,
Sometimes falling, never planned.
I give you my best, you should feel blessed,
Right through to your chest, but you treat me like all the rest.
And I am the purest, I am the jury, I am the judge,
Always looking down from above.
If you only knew what you did to me,
Open your eyes, tell me your plea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem