A way of life sold.
Bought by those fascinated.
As to how the telling of tales are told.
Makes little difference if truth is omitted.
And an odor that stays,
Close to unbearable to take.
Since there will be some,
So overwhelmed to become addicted.
That one's way of life lived to fabricate.
And known to fake and embellish.
Seems to have more substance today.
Than truth to hear.
But the content fades.
Leaving no one to remain high.
On the significance of its importance.
Decadence and stench,
Has more seeking it as if to crave.
And these are the days,
Many have come to identify...
As a quality of life no one should have reason,
To find objectable to disgust or oppose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem