Pretend never hurts, as I fall, hold me. It means nothing.
Maybe so elegant, wish-fulfilment, parade of idiocy mistreated me,
like fools worshipping mistakes when in paradise
remembering all night to go back. Insight,
slipping and fluid calls help for unknown mystical remedy
only you can save me now
but I will never ask to be saved.
Never did, never could, and now I
never will.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You can see why one might get that idea.... I do like this one though; wonderfully pesimistic. 'like fools worshipping mistakes'; some lines are just meant to exist. Sorry about the rant; beautiful as always. A x