I saw the figure above me holding a bottle in his hand
I saw a tight grip on my wrist
I saw the bags of trash
I saw it all
I will not be going back to that locked chest of memories
Why did i go back
Oh that's right i wanted to see what i had forgotten
I thought they might be good memories
I was wrong
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem