he spent the rest of his days drifting futher and further away from everyone
everything
no one knows why
only assuming he was unhappy
but it couldnt have been their faults
he looks back upon his days and cries
and then wonders what it wouldve ended up
he certainly wouldnt be where he is now
which is not there
but under here
where the mold grows slow
and water drips from every pore
what could he have done?
he couldve been loved
but that was a long shot
a long shot for the rest of the world
or so he thinks
but why would they?
he questions himself everyday
this quandry haunts him for the rest of his daze
no one visits and no one to visit
alone in a world
where reality rules
the walls the his life
the size of a cardboard box
hes in there
still wondering
still wanting
love
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
deep piece, great job!