This note book is vicious
each page sharpened
like knives cutting me
deep, bloody into my soul
lined pages roll down
to coffee stains washed up
like a forgotten poet
who's forgotten how to write
washed up with all the other junk
from a sea of nothingness
leaving behind a dream
unread on empty pages
just a few coffee stains remain
spilt sometime ago
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem