They say all addictions are bad,
and at once I have agreed.
Until I developed one, and I thought nothing could go wrong.
My addiction was a walking beauty, a goddess straight from heaven.
Her name was music to my ears, her smile made the gray clouds lift away.
No addiction is good, except this one.
But now my world is darkness,
my heart is shattered, I was proved wrong
And I look to death for a comfort zone
For what is living with an addiction,
when your addiction isn't addicted to you?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem