Can you feel it seeping in?
In your blood, in your skin?
From your fingers to your toes?
But to your skull it mostly goes?
Numbness, a tingling sensation,
As if every motion you make is slowed,
The mind decelerates in compensation,
Now at a thinking pace, here it will be showed,
That inside there is emotion,
There's bit of melancholy, but also joy,
Creativity sets in like an explosion,
Freedom from stress, just for a little while,
Trying to make others understand how I am feeling,
Perhaps I cannot do this verbally,
But give me pen and paper and I will begin writing,
Not asking for your sympathy, maybe a little bit of empathy,
Sometimes it makes me happy putting these scribbles on a page,
Try not to take too much meanings from these words on paper,
It's just an expression of depression and rage,
That's all I got to say today, so I'll see you later.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem