Oh how graced I must be to walk the hallowed halls
of that thing you call a heart.
A cold draft follows me out, for even the air is stale
and needs an escape.
Who knew one could contain so deep a chasm in one's chest.
A canyon for the viewing of passerby.
So hollow, the rhythmic beating resounds in ears miles away.
A drum of warning, come no closer,
for you might fall in. In fact, you may never hit bottom.
A free fall that comes with a price.
How proud you must be, for you are certainly one of a kind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.