Like a shooting star I find my
Existance falling pretty often,
From the sky I painted with love
I mistook as heaven,
I am bleeding words from the
Wound life planted,
My narcotic heaven got tired of
Being taken for granted.
Badged in invisible scars I lay
Chained to fortress of good old things,
Where we loved like free birds
I miss you like my miss my wings.
I am still bleeding words, a bed
Full of insomnia stays awake,
My ragged wings hide the scars
Of pain it was forced to take.
My narcotic hell dreams, craddle
Like infants, collide like stars,
I profusely bleed words from wounds,
And stare at the unhealed scars.
I still bleed words from the
Wounds life planted,
My narcotic heaven got tired of
Being taken for granted.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem