I scream all around while crying colors,
Eating my own heart myself.
The moons may never ever change orbit
So why wait for my return?
The past is the past and all's left are memories
Jumping 'round each time I sleep.
I cannot find sand in the inner core
And I can no longer surface.
Impossibilities impossible,
And I laugh out songs.
But deep inside this Atlantic bottle,
I scream around while crying colors.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem