I swing between bitter indecision and sheer madness.
Most of my lies linger
Intertwined amongst fine threads of
Silver air, acrid burn.
Still the flesh charrs, the soul scars.
Yearning your sutil demeanor, those wistful eyes.
Ought you to steal my life, again? The last query
Ubiquitously staggers across the skies
A single answer, yet none renders harmless.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem