Well, you lost it all
to win your prize.
And all the dreams you hold sacred
are now miniature-sized.
You kept saying, “What’s wrong with me? ”
and I never believed,
that with all your psycho bullshit
you’d be the one to leave.
But you are cold and you are cruel,
left me to tend house and play the fool.
Now you come back and throw a fit,
all you can say is “What do I get? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem