Blowing out the smoke
As if they were all my troubles
And watching them all
Quickly drift and fade away
I breathe in the grey death
Hoping it will kill all the troubles
That I’ve held on to for so long
But all it does is kill me
I take a comfort in the thought
That I now have once less breath to take
One less thought in the burrows of my mind
One less moment obsessed with regret
Before I know it, the embers reach their end
As I take one long last breathe in
I remember all the little troubles of the day
And I just blow it all out
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem