All I have done otherwise today is worry and fret.
As for if there's any space in my mind and soul for good dreams yet.
I don't know what has confiscated me to this psychological debt.
But it is a trap I wish I could forget.
I can't believe what terrible things are living rent free in my mind.
I wish that I could get rid of them for once and final and all the time.
Because I am not sure if I will be able to speak another word, I have to rhyme.
To make sure that I can still tell something and not become a mime.
Rhyme is like a machine that takes one from word to word.
Without it I might sound like nothing but a garbled bird.
And as to what tomorrow brings I have not been offered
anything but another day of feeling life is terribly absurd.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem