And,
Those edging tears,
Finally took form.
I was wet,
Another costume,
Was forced on me.
Rather,
Than my heart,
"The" machine was subsisting.
I was,
Fighting an incessant struggle,
To emerge alive.
The agony,
Didn't seem to ever subside.
Should my clock continue crawling?
Should I,
Cease to "merely exist"?
Or persist living like a vegetable?
Will I,
Succeed in being,
A "deserving burden"?
Or,
Do I at least,
Have,
The "Right to Die"?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem