As I look at the ghost's reflection
It is an image of mass rejection
My soul makes the ghost inferior
While I embarrasingly stare in the mirror
The image I see is not exactly me
I do not know who I'm supposed to be
Am I just an ohra of pure saddness
Combined with a mind filled with absolute maddness
a merry-go-round of disdain lies
Spinning and spinning, I do not know why
Hoping for this all to come to a stop
Before this rage reaches the top
Exploding into a million small pieces
I can only pray until the insanity ceases
Left in ashes, left in depair
My ghostly soul fades and disappears
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Genuine, but sad I think only the man with much self-consciousness and places strick demands upon himself can make such a poem Bless