Oh, I was thinking about killing myself,
Do you mind,
And putting my feelings up on a shelf,
And your blind,
When it comes to literally anyone else,
Let's rewind,
Back to before my heart would regularly melt,
I was fine,
But what's different from what I feel and I felt,
It's bout' time,
I unlock my brain and see what's locked in the vault,
It's not my fault,
But I need to blame someone for this mental assault.
So I'm pulled to the broken,
Because the fixed are just fine,
When these words are spoken,
My mental health declines,
Now I think I'm approaching,
The end of the line.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dear Sketcher. You write so beautifully. Hope they are not rhymes of experience?