Sixty-five.
Fill me with shame.
They want me to play,
The hunger game.
Sixty-three.
Apparently normal.
But in their eyes,
Quite abnormal.
Six-zero.
Starved my body.
Over worked,
To please everybody.
Fifty-five.
A month of sickness.
My crash and burn,
They will witness.
Beep, beep.
Fifty-three.
It's perfect for you,
Is it perfect for me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice one!