My demon is locked in a dark shed
He is beating relentlessly at the door
Denting the wood that binds him within
But he is becoming easy to ignore
As I move on, a part of me inside dies
It is he on the inside
Most will disagree
But not most like me
They will say it is not possible to revolutionize yourself
Without leaving tiny splinters that will work themselves out of your skin
It is hard; I agree.
I have to become someone entirely new
Without looking back for reference
I must realize that everything I own is not really mine
Some things are okay to take
Some will be left behind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem