Never getting what you deserve. All you do is serve. All the pressure and people breathing down your neck makes your blood run cold an your back quiver. The candle stick goes out and your room goes cold. You shiver. You cry your eyes into a never ending river. You pray for a better life. For better judgement. All you get is bitter begrudgement. All the lieing, the never ending spying, makes you go crazy. You sneezing, barley breathing as you hold your breath hopeing no one over hurd. You listen. Eyes glisten. You hear faint footsteps walking down the hall toward your little door. You try to make a dash for it but you trip and fall to the floor. The door creaks open. You just lay there and look to see whos there. Waiting for dispair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the way you put things. Your description is good. Deborah Cromer