Makes no sense, it's all past tense,
Where did the feeling go?
Another day, another way,
Yet it all feels like less than before
A series of desperate moments which only double the anxiety,
Which create their own obstacles and write their own tragedy,
It's all too overwhelming at times
The present hasn't been a gift,
Nor has the emerging realization that there isn't an expiration date on sadness,
So what remains are eyes which will run for a few miles,
Stopping every few minutes to dry up
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem