Liars I don't miss.
Or regret that I've kicked,
To the curb.
And that's not a bridge to burn.
That's a bridge built to forget,
A waste of time taken...
In frequent walks across.
To awaken and realize,
Who's mind was lost.
Trying to disguise the bridge.
And the appearance,
Of what it could have been...
With a daily dose of applied fog.
Believing it not to be noticed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem