All these plans that were made
All these lines that were written
Just a waste of a line
This anger has risen
The pen and the ink
The typing of the keys
not a blink of an eye,
nor an ear to my cry
You let hatred rise instead,
Like a hollow tree, empty, but not yet dead.
How can people act like they're so happy all the time
Surely, it's not just me, who can't handle this climb
I'm sick of heartbreak,
Sick of all the lying, the people who are fake.
I'm sick of wanting something more
I want this emptiness inside of me, can't it be filled?
Love's not a comptetion, but it stops just short of war
I want this to be gone, I want to just feel fullfilled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem