I only have to write a poem because I have spent the whole night
thinking and did not accomplish an iota with all my mental business.
Not even like I was planning the next rocket to send to some newly
discovered galaxy or tweaking the final blueprints on a scientifically
proven manipulation of time travel. My soul was supposed to transmogify
through to a new dimension. Instead, it got stuck all night in busy
mental nothingness- yet an accomplishment, because somehow I
avoided true fear and true pain, where I could have gone to had I
let myself think about THAT and instead I chose something minor
and merely a as of today disappointment. But now I have blown that out of
proportion too and it is now being catalogued as true excruciation.
That's what I did all night- restructure pain categories. And you?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem