Why do I punish my self? My calves are burning like tandoori chicken,
Walked through each the dead ends I could find
I finally slump myself down on a large bumpy rock
Staring out at this mass of generic countryside,
It comes down like a grand piano of the top of a sky scraper,
Out of control, shake, tremble, I’m unreal, I’m dying and going crazy
I can see it, every single splinter of oak, each key of solid spruce
Scrawled across a busy road, cars swerving,
They can’t stop in time, It’s not about how I feel anymore.
~
Pulled out of existence, beauty that isn’t fictional
See it for your self.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem