She draws with silver,
It comes out red.
She screams out cries,
No one comes.
She writes a love note,
The love is long gone.
She goes underwater,
Not wanting back up.
She practices knots,
Trying not to get caught.
Her canvas is almost completely red.
Her voice is giving out on her.
Her note is almost finished.
Her air supply is about all empty.
Her perfect knot is tied.
She is gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sad, sad poem indeed. cheer-up and read mine - Bloom of Youth - Adeline