Do I, or don't I?
All I can do is just cry,
and be terrified.
Terrified of the lies you told.
Terrified of the thoughts you hold.
Do you see me?
Do you care?
All you seem to is stare, but not at me through me.
Like I am your looking glass of treasures in the past.
You see me to the back of my head, seeing my thoughts of wishing you were dead.
The death of your heart not you mind.
I only want yours because you killed mine.
The burns and cuts simmer in misery.
They fester in agony.
Yet, you are the cure.
You are the one to save me for sure.
But where's my heart?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem