40 minutes left.
too tired.
words come...
barely.
drifting
slipping away
white board fades...
paper cushion
plastic mattress
gone.
left.
free.
unending calm,
serenity.
complete relaxation.
cold metal
jerked back into the
sound.
unending torture,
question. answer.
30 minutes left.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem