Bleeding gently
Screaming soft
No more breathing
Feeling lost
Lost and drifting
Through the sea
Thinking back to
Being me
I don't miss it.
Silence, sound.
Finding places
Feeling Drowned.
Safe and gentle
Death is free
And I don't miss it,
Being Me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem