When the lights flash through my eyes
you should be able to see the moisture trapped within.
You're so busy without me,
I'm so locked up, dreaming.
Nights like this spell out life's cruelty,
her destruction to one's defiant soul.
And I'm continually preaching of my exhaustion.
It's all a lie. It's such a shame.
Is optimism meant to make us feel so alone?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem