A man sits at a table. His eyes are filled with pain. You can’t help but look at him, he doesn’t notice. You watch as his hands grow more tense by the second. You watch as he completely crushes the glass, the shards digging into his skin. You notice that a single tear did not fall from his eyes.
You can’t tare your eyes away. He continues to sit there, unmoving as blood pours from around the chunks of glass in his skin. He stands up, shoving a few crumpled bills onto the table, and slowly walks out of the restaurant, he didn’t even take the glass out.
My friend wrote this
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem