I hide behind my words that fills the papers
Not knowing whether I am understood
I rather my fingers do the talking
As my voice is lifeless in front of you.
There are just memories of us
Memories that consume my thoughts
Thoughts that never seem to go away
Thoughts that confuse me to the brink.
Sometimes the past is better than the future
We had what we wanted, in the past
We fight for the future, tiresome
In the present I am lost.
Confusion is my downfall
Not knowing who or what I am
What I want, always in the clouds
What I have, always in the dust,
Wanting, hoping, regretting
These words they circle above my head
Like vultures waiting for my decay
And I say, "What are you waiting for? "
ezzabell fanning
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem