You ask me how I do it
How I write
Well I reply ask her
Ask her how she killed me
My words are just echoes of my pain
It’s the only way
The only way to express a fragment of my pain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
True! ! ! Our words are echoes and remnants of our joys and pains...the sensitivity we have in our heart and soul......10++