It is claustrophobic.
Walls around me are narrowing
the pavement.
Colouring it Gray,
Devouring light.
Fleeting moments rush
to unwanted height.
Then it falls to prove and fight,
the decayed patron of love.
It's claustrophobic.
Breath light,
as love appears fluffy white.
Yes, it is clostrophobic.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem