Of Such my life once was although
I know that yours was not.
Some how the paint ran through the
board's of which I sit against.
The sun shine's down upon an empty
shell of me,
and now my love for her I had,
such is my loss.
Now she won't kiss my face before
my make up dries, I know I am a mess.
If she should ever wake before I rise,
would she remember, what I was.
Night came much to quick for me,
like a candle that's the wind's blown out.
The day before that night, I can't
remember what I knew, I know no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem