Sometimes I think I skipped my childhood completely.
I shouldn't be where I am.
Sometimes I think me loving you so discreetly
never gave you a thought of how much I cared.
The scars on my arms used to bleed now and then,
but not so much anymore.
I'd love to say that it's because I'm much better,
but I've just found other ways of making me hurt.
My head is killing me, my heart is tearing me down.
I'm so heavy with my afflictions.
Mental decay is gnawing away
at the remainder of my love for life.
The end is at the point of this knife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ana podarevska this poem is a gem