Tearing apart theses wings on my back
that make me fly.
Tearing apart these wings in the hopes
that I might die.
Bleeding to death when I am
high above the ground
and I look down
and I flood my world from the tears
of my creation.
I make oceans.
The rocks scrape my feet as I trudge
through the world of unknown.
Because I'm lost and in pain and I don't
think that I can keep going.
I am whipped through the wind and
thrown from the place that I love.
No matter what - after this
my fears will keep me from flying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem