This white room
Gifts down on my bedside
Tried to make me life like
On my little bed of doom
I wish these needles they give
I wish these pills that I take
Would make me more than I am
Make me strong, defeat weak
Yet I barely have the will to keep going
Everyday a ball and chain I am holding
Praying to God that I'll be alright, but
Wishing for death rather than keep with this fight
I am needing blood, will you help
If you could, a bone transfusion as well
Nine percent of the world to rely on
Nine percent I can't comply from
I'm still stuck in this white room
Hoping I'll get help real soon
Hair abandon off my body
Cancers got my lungs, their rotting
I'm still stuck in this white room
Parents say someday I'll bloom
Still they cry everynight
Doctor says I'll lose my life. Will I really lose my life
I wish these needles they give
I wish these pills that I take
Would make me more than I am
Make me strong, defeat weak
Yet I barely have the will to keep going
Everyday a ball and chain I am holding
Praying to God that I'll be alright, but
Wishing for death rather than keep with this fight
Looking at my bedside, with all the pretty gifts
Just consentments and condolences for when I leave all this
The doctors just a mean kid, telling me I'll fail
Every giftbearer just gives me the sense that I'm too pale
The sickness will never fill every empty space
That it creates a victimed face, I will never bear
I'm not leaving here, I'm not leaving here, Not going anywhere
I wish these needles they give
I wish these pills that I take
Would make me more than I am
Make me strong, defeat weak
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you have used images to their optimum effect and they bring out the poignancy of the piece with an amazing conviction...impressive! !