I continue too write. as if it could fix it.
I'm so broken.
and i don't even know where to begin.
i waged war on every friend i had.
in the end i lost. what a cost.
Horrible and dishonorable.
treachery a foot.
some would say bull.
But i knew better.
es were what i knew best.
Yet i don't know if anything i did was success.
it did more damage then good.
it turned one burden into many.
i created plenty of enemies.
But that was nothing compared to the 5 friends lost.
they say everything comes at cost.
mine was just too much to bear.
it just brought more dis pare.
I'm still broken.
I'm still hated and aggravated.
another liar another story all for a little glory.
can we say narcissistic and so unrealistic.
its still beyond my comprehension of the reason.
other than pure hate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem