It is a love-hate kinda fight
Bloody knuckles
Even using belt buckles
Yes, I love to fight dirty
I always seem to be in a hurry
To hurt myself
Only me, I fight myself
I put myself on the lowest self
Nothing fills me
No joy
No happiness
Just...emptiness
Because I am a damned mess
I pray, I confess
However, my soul finds no rest
In search of something, or maybe it is nothing
I do not know what or why I am searching
All I know is my life's fight
Is worth for Fighting
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem