Minutes. Moments. Seconds.
All wasted.
On countless, pitiful, tortuous, thoughts.
Thoughts,
That eat away at your very being.
Thoughts,
That know your very soul.
Thoughts,
That may know you all.
Your thoughts,
Just maybe the reason your blood continues to turn cold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A powerful poem, a great write.